


Time and the Delta

by Loquatorious



Category: Doctor Who, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Adoption, Adoptive-Father, Adoptive-Mother, Anti-Gary Stu, Anti-Mary Sue - Freeform, Body Horror, But not in a cringe way I promise, Chakotay gets to be a badass, Conflict, Delta Quadrant, Ethical Themes, F/F, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Good Ol' Voyager Shenanigans, Horror, Immortality, Internal Conflict, Lost Love, Love, M/M, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Mourning, Original Character(s), Parenthood, Plot Twist, Political Themes, Redemption, Regeneration, Religious Themes, Retelling, Romance, Sci-Fi, Seven of Nine gets some lovin, Space Opera, Starfleet, Time Lords, Tragedy, Whoniverse Crossover, doctor who - Freeform, fathers, finding happiness, mothers, romp, season 5, season 6, season 7, star trek voyager - Freeform, whoniverse - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loquatorious/pseuds/Loquatorious
Summary: Stranded in the unknown, the USS-Voyager comes face-to-face with the deadliest race in the universe, and a traveller in a blue box. One chance meeting sends the Voyager crew on a wild chase through the Delta Quadrant, meeting friend and foe along the way. It's going to be a long way home, and not everyone is going to make it back.Takes place after the episode "Drone" (5x02) and will follow the show with sometimes minor, sometimes major, deviations.This will mainly be a Voyager centric story, with dashes of the Whoniverse sprinkled in. Sit back and enjoy the ride. EDIT: NOW WITH COVER ART!





	1. Chapter 1

**Captain's**   **Log**  
**Stardate 52097.2**

**We have been travelling in a parsec of deep space for one week with no sign of conflict or obstacle on our path. Crew morale is stable, and supplies are steady so far. It is estimated that it will take around another fortnight for us to reach a viable trading post to buy new supplies until then the crew is taking this as a chance for some respite after our most recent encounter with the Borg. I have noted that Seven of Nine is remaining stable, or at least as emotional inexpressive as always, however - after the death of One - I hold scepticism that she has fully recovered from any possible trauma. I shall continue to monitor her until I am confident that she has sufficiently healed from any distress that she may be experiencing. At least it will be an interesting study as to how a deliberately unemotional being would mourn. I am taking some time to review our data logs for any inconsistencies before joining Commander Chakotay for daily exercises.**

*

Janeway sighed in relief as she filed last data log into its correct spot. Two hours of reading and correcting were finally over, and the holodeck was calling for a game of shuttlecock. Of course, it would usually be laser tag, but this time Janeway was craving for something a bit more recreational. She smiled to herself as she recounted her attempts to explain the idea of recreation to Seven of Nine, who, of course, found it was an "inefficient pass-time" at first. However, a few games of laser tag convinced her that it was better than nothing.

Stretching, Janeway stood and started to loosen the collar of her captain's uniform so that it was easier to remove it. She fingered the small clip, before wrenching it free, allowing the front of her outfit to fall open. Cold air seeped onto her chest, and she sighed. Her eyes fluttered closed as her tired mind tried convincing her that a small nap wouldn't go amiss. How she longed for one, honestly she did, especially after staring at screens for hours on end, aggressively searching for any errors. Even when she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut to wet them again, her vision swam with the ghosts of numbers and words and typing errors and punctuation that was just not quite right.

Janeway was thankful, therefore, that whenever she found herself in a moment such as this, she always had her window in the great unknown, and viewing glass into the deepest reaches of space lining the wall to her right. She took a moment to stare at it, not to try and mark out constellations or even think too hard about how every one of the infinite amounts of shining dots was a system full of life. For once, Janeway just looked, without seeing or scrutinising. The colours of a nearby - well, nearby in relative terms - cluster painted the sky in fluorescent orange, colliding into greens and reds as if some grand celestial being had spilt a palette of the wealthiest paints in the universe.

"Beautiful," she remarked quietly, to only herself.

It was moments like this that almost made the 75 years left of their journey home somewhat excusable. Who else would get to witness a sight like this? Except for her.

A privilege of the lost, she supposed. A small voice echoed from the back of her brain. 'Let's stay here,' it said. 'Let's watch the night sky for all eternity. Let's never go back to the boring normality of Earth. It could never compare out here.' It was true, she admitted. But it's not about what she wants. Her priority was the crew, every single individual life on board this vessel that was counting on her to lead them home. She couldn't let them down; she would carry them all through hell to get them there, even if there would be nothing waiting for her when she got back.

"Bridge calling the Captain," the voice of Ensign Harry Kim sounded over the intercom, anchoring her thoughts back to the present.

"Go ahead, Harry," Janeway replied, lazily waving her hand to allow him to continue, breaking her eyes from the magnificence of infinity so that she could return to the daily grind.

"Captain, we've found a distress signal from a nearby planet. I think you should take a look."

'There goes my recreational afternoon,' the captain thought wearily. She looked back to the sorted data files sitting innocently on her desk and glared at them. 'I should've taken my chance an hour ago. Sorry, Chakotay.'

"Alright, I'll be there in a minute." Shaking off the daze she had found herself in and fastening the collar of her uniform back up, she walked steadfast from her Captain's quarters to the bridge. Everyone was present. Her Vulcan Chief of Security, Tuvok; her Human Lieutenant and hotshot pilot Tom Paris; her Human Ensign and pseudo-Protege, Harry Kim; and her Human First Officer and closest friend, Chakotay. Each one of them was standing tall and ready to do their jobs. It gave her the extra little kick to adjust her posture to one complimenting a Captain, and reinvigorate her stride. Entering the bridge, she quickly found her seat and positioned herself to look upon the main screen in front of her.

"What have we got?" she asked, prompting Harry to explain.

"We just received a stray transmission, we believe it to be distress signal of some kind. Its point of origin is currently being determined."

"How long ago was it sent?" Janeway enquired.

"Could be anytime between last week and last millennia," Harry answered. "The single has been corrupted somehow. Any solid data we could find is that it was transmitted on all frequencies, so evidently they were trying to attract attention."

Settling in, she nodded to the Ensign, who was currently situated behind a console on her left, "Show it on screen, Harry."

After a few button presses, the starry view of space disappeared behind a viewing window. It showed an evidently deteriorating piece of footage, its low resolution just about detailing a humanoid figure with two antennae protruding from its forehead speaking in hurried tones. It seemed panicked.

"Please---innocents are dying, y--- ---- ------ ---is plan----- ----- --destruction. If---can find him---he can---lease help---" The quality of the footage meant that much of the message was lost to static interference, allowing them only snippets of what the distressed individual was trying to say.

"Can you try and reconstruct the message?" Janeway asked, her intrigue suddenly piqued.

"Doesn't look like it's possible," Harry replied with disappointment. "There wasn't much left by the time this message got to us, leading me to believe it could have been eroded by time. Either that or it was partially jammed or interfered. That could either be from space matter or..."

"Or from some kind signal jamming technology," Tuvok finished, "The type that is easily found in most space-faring vessels."

"So you're saying that someone could've tried to stop it from reaching its destination," Janeway deduced. Tuvok nodded gravely.

"Hang on, I've got one good piece of the message left," Harry piped up, skipping to a new section of the message.

The message skipped to a visually noisy but overall much cleaner piece of footage where the crew could now see a small emblem of what looked like a diamond on the alien's lapel, along with it facial features. It was a male, with dark hair atop his pale head. His antennae held small, bulb-like sacs that glowed intensely.

"If you find this message---- you must find----- Find---- doctor!"

"Well at least there's one thing we can help with," said with resolve. "How far is it?"

"Just a few light years from here, Captain," Tom Paris answered, "And according to preliminary scans it doesn't seem that anyone is around. It should be safe."

"And if it's not?" Janeway asked, turning to Tuvok.

"I will begin preparing evasive measures," the Vulcan stated. Janeway turned to an expectant Paris.

"Take us there," she ordered. "Prepare for resistance. It doesn't look like they were in any good shape. Captain to Sickbay."

"Yes, Captain?" The voice of the ship's doctor replied from her badge's speakers.

"Prepare for potential incoming patients in sickbay. If they want a doctor, then we can sure as hell provide the best we've got."

The Starship Voyager began to alter its course towards the planet and sped away at maximum warp, in a hope that they'll be able to provide assistance in any way.

After a quick journey, Voyager arrived at the planet, hastily establishing a high orbit.

"Captain, the signal is coming from a base on the planet's surface," Ensign Kim clarified.

"Are there any ships around?"

"No, Captain," Commander Tuvok answered after a quick check of his display.

"Then I want an away team on the planet, ready to provide relief. Get going."

"Yes, Captain," Commander Chakotay replied, rising from his seat. "Tom, Tuvok, we'll take a shuttlecraft down to the surface, see what we can find."

The three men rode the turbo-lift down to the shuttle bay, where a small craft was waiting for them. A small reconnaissance and transportation unit - nothing too fancy but it would get the job done - just big enough to fit a small away team. They had decided that stealth would be the best option for a mission such as this, hence the shuttle had little in the way of conspicuous weaponry or attachments. Unfortunately, it would leave them vulnerable if a large enough military force found them, but considering that scanning results came out clear and that no other ships were anywhere near Voyager's location - or even in this system of their sensors could be trusted - they decided it was worth the risk. Also waiting for them was Seven of Nine, who had boarded the vessel already, carrying a small datapad and bag of tools from engineering.

"I wish to join you. I can help you decipher the message if it seems beyond repair," she explained. She held up the bag. "I picked these up from Lieutenant Torres the way."

"So be it," Chakotay replied, as he, Tom and Tuvok entered the shuttle. "When we arrive on the planet's surface our goal is to find the message's source and retrieve a clean copy. In the scenario that we find survivors we be beaming them aboard the ship where the doctor will see to their injuries. Tuvok, you will remain on the shuttle in case of an am plush. Tom, take the helm. Tuvok, arm those phasers for each of us, it could get nasty. Tom?"

"Engines are online and primed for ignition."

"Right, let's go."

The shuttle's engines roared into life, propelling the shuttle forward and out of the blast doors. The shuttle careered through space to the signal's origin. It appeared to be signalling from the middle of a large landmass on the darker side of the planet. Soon, they were entering the planet's atmosphere.

"Bring us in gently, Tom," Chakotay instructed. "We have no idea what happened, and I'd rather we weren't seen."

"I know, I know," Tom replied, "I've got this."

Sure enough, the away team landed on the surface, next to a torn up outpost, the signal's origin. One by the one, the crew disembarked the shuttle and made their way towards the outpost.

"Arm phasers to stun," instructed Chakotay. They all obeyed, switching the modes of their Starfleet phaser rifles. Chakotay tapped the com unit on his chest. "Captain, we've found the signal's origin. It's a small building in the middle of densely packed forest area."

"Excellent, Chakotay," Janeway replied from her place on the bridge. "Proceed inside and find the signal - maybe we can get a better idea of what happened here."

The group found a gap in the outpost's wall and climbed through, finding the outpost to be a small communication centre. One of the monitors was still running, despite everything else in the room being shattered beyond repair. Seven walked to the monitor, tapping a few commands into the keyboard provided.

"It seems there's a copy of the message still intact," she explained.

"Let's hear it," Tom replied. Seven pressed a key and a crisp picture of the humanoid that hey had seen earlier appeared on the monitor. Another input from Seven and the image started to move.

"Hello, my name is Commander Axis of the planet Hol. We are under attack from a race called the Daleks, and we need immediate assistance. Please, innocents, are dying. The Daleks do not take prisoners and will not accept surrender. This planet's population is over 1 billion! If we cannot escape, there will be no survivors! There are children here! If you can find him, send him this message, he can help us. If you receive this message, please, you must find him! You must find the Doctor!"

The message ended, leaving the room's occupants in silence. Tom was the first to speak.

"The Doctor?"

"That is what the message said," Seven clarified.

"They can't be talking about our's, right?" Tom asked. "I mean, that's obvious... isn't it?"

"I don't know," Chakotay replied. "Seven, can you find any data on this 'Doctor'? Find out who they are."

"Negative, it doesn't seem that this station has any cultural information stored. It seems this was only communications station," Seven explained.

"Curious," Chakotay remarked. "Captain, did you get all of that?"

"Affirmative, Chakotay," Janeway replied, "and while this 'Doctor' is certainly an enigma, I'm more concerned about these 'Daleks'."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Judging by the fact that I can't find any life-signs, other than our away team, I'm assuming that either the species escaped or..."

"Let's hope that that's not the case, Harry."

Suddenly, an alarm registered from one of the bridge's controls panels. An ensign filling in for Tuvok studied its readings and paled.

"Captain!" she called. "There's a ship approaching out of warp speed - a big one!"

"Is it Borg?" Janeway asked, swivelling on the spot. The ensign shook her head.

"No, ma'am. It's nothing that we've seen before. It--"

Without further warning, a large saucer appeared in the space to their bow. Covered in bronze-like metal, it's size easily dwarfed the Federation vessel, and gripping in every person on the ship's bridge in an anxious tension. It hovered beside them, its immense mass blocking out the light of the sun, plunging them into darkness.

"Who are they?" Harry asked cautiously as if a part of him was reluctant to know the answer.

"I don't know, Harry. Hail them." Janeway commanded.

Soon afterwards, a video feed of a dark room appeared, which housed a single small circle of blue light at the centre. A constant beeping filled the room, like a drumming heartbeat. Every instinct in Janeway's body told her escape, to pilot her ship as far away as possible and never come back. But that option wasn't open to them. They still an away team on the planet. Janeway supposed that as much danger Voyager was in at the current moment, leaving the shuttle behind would be killing them. If they want to bring that crew back alive, they had to stay.

"Greetings," Janeway began uneasily. "My name is Captain Janeway of the starship Voyager. We came here in response to a distress signal. We know not of any borders of this sector of space or the politics of its inhabitants. Do you understand us?"

There was a short silence. The life-form seemed unresponsive. Janeway assumed that it was processing what she had said, but the tiniest sliver of doubt in the back of her brain told her that they didn't care. All too soon and like a crack of thunder sounding through her bones, a grating, robotic, psychopathic voice replied with a spine-chilling cry.

"YOU ARE NOT DALEK."

Janeway felt her blood turn cold. It sounded like an accusation, spoken with as much vitriol as if she and everyone else on Voyager had offended their deepest values.

"No, we're not. But--" Janeway tried steering the exchange towards more non-confrontational grounds, but the Daleks were not allowing it.

"YOU ARE INFERIOR."

'Run! Run! RUN!' Her instincts screamed at her to turn the ship around and get the hell of there, but she knew she couldn't leave without her crew. She refused to abandon them to whatever fate the Daleks represented. One last time, Janeway attempted to barter peace.

"Well, I assure you we can--"

"EXTERMINATE!"

The warship fired a beam of pure energy, striking right at its target: Voyager. The bridge was violent jolted from the shock wave.

"Captain!" the ensign from Tuvok's station cried. "The shields are down to just 13.2%!"

"How is that possible? No energy weapon is that powerful!" Janeway exclaimed. "Execute evasive manoeuvres, now! We cannot be hit by that weapon again!"

"I guess we've found our Daleks, then," Harry quipped.

Janeway might have laughed if the situation wasn't as dire as it currently was.

"Everyone, this is your captain speaking. Red alert! Red alert!" She announced from her chair, her voice spreading throughout the vessel, calling it crew into action. "I want all available hands at their stations! Keep the power flowing to the engines and the shields!"

"The ship is sending out what seem like reconnaissance ships towards the planet," the ensign read from her control screen, noting several smaller crafts were exiting from a docking area along the saucer's circumference. In flights of six, they began heading straight toward the shuttle's landing area.

"Chakotay, the Daleks are sending ships in your direction! You need to get back to Voyager! Get off of that planet!" She almost screamed at him, over the blaring alarms that were currently filling the bridge.

"Understood," Chakotay replied from the planet's surface. "We're going, right now! Let's move!"

"But we haven't finished downloading the message," Tom pointed out.

"There's no time. The Daleks are coming. Now, move!"

"The Daleks?" Paris asked, his eyes widening as if he just been told that Doomsday was upon them.

"Yes, they've just engaged Voyager, and they're sending ships in our direction! Now move! Come on!" Chakotay ordered, almost dragging the two away from the console.

"The download needs only two more minutes," Seven tried to argue, but Chakotay's grip refused to loosen.

"We barely have one! Now run!" he exclaimed, engaging them in a sprint back to the shuttle. He punched his communicator, signalling for the one crew member left on the shuttle. "Tuvok! Get the shuttle ready for immediate take-off! Tom, I hope you're ready to execute the quickest earth to space flight in history."

"Oh, when you put it like that!"

They had just breached the shuttle cockpit by the time the Dalek scout ships had entered their line of sight, just breaching the night sky and sinking ever closer towards them. With a ferocity few of them had seen in the man in the past, Tom pushed the shuttle straight through the air, brushing the treetops as they went. As they were leaving the planet's atmosphere, they managed to spare a glimpse at the battle going on above them, and at the alien ship that had suddenly turned their simple reconnaissance mission into a hasty retreat.

"Look at the size of that thing!" Tom marvelled as he saw the Dalek ship. "It looks as big as a state!"

"We can admire its technical feat later, Lieutenant. For now, can you get us back to Voyager?" Tuvok interrupted from his seat.

"I hope so, but at the speed that Voyager is going, docking is going to be a bumpy ride, not to mention a quick one."

"Attempting to dock in the space of a few hundred metres across while going at several thousand metres per second is almost impossible, Lieutenant," Seven pointed out.

"Yes, thank you for your analysis, Seven, much appreciated," Tom replied.

"Eyes front!" Chakotay warned as the smaller ships began opening fire at the shuttle. Tom immediately started performing evasive manoeuvres to try and dodge the beams, with each one missing by the skin of their teeth. Chakotay readjusted himself, to find that the Dalek fleet was beginning to for, a blockade on their bow, preventing them from getting past. Slowly losing hope, he turned to the crew.

"So what do we do?" Chakotay asked in exasperation, raising his voice to be heard above what sounded like the groan of the engines, holding on to anything that he could to keep his stability throughout Tom's frantic flying display. "Try careening into Voyager only to get pummelled into scrap metal? Or risk our tiny, barely armed shuttlecraft against those things?"

"I don't know, Chakotay," Paris answered. "I'm a pilot, not a miracle worker!"

"I have a simpler solution," a voice from behind them replied. They all turned, ready to face the intruder, and paused. Chakotay could only stare at what had could only be described as the impossible.

"Who... who are you?" Chakotay asked.

"What's going on?" Paris asked, unable to turn around even for a second, for fear of being hit by a stray laser beam.

"A friend, I promise, now hope aboard!" The voice replied. For only a moment, Tom risked turning around, then back to the windscreen. Then, to test if his sanity hadn't just gone out the window, he glanced again. This time, Tom didn't look away. He couldn't. The only thing he could do was say what everyone in the craft was currently thinking.

"... You're kidding, right?"

 

* * *

 

Back on Voyager's bridge, Janeway was desperately trying to navigate a route that would both avoid any incoming laser beams and take Voyager within range of the shuttle. A task that was slowly becoming less and less possible to do. Whatever they did the Daleks just seemed to keep firing with abandon, and no matter how complex the manoeuvre, the Daleks seemed to possess the clairvoyance to predict it, keeping them locked into a space that was getting smaller and smaller by the second. At this point, Janeway was throwing out any idea that she could to see what stuck.

"Try luring the attack ships from the shuttle, try to draw fire towards each other," she ordered, not entirely sure herself if it was possible, but holding beyond hope that her brilliant crew could translate it into reality. "Harry, can you reach them with the transporter beam yet?"

"Negative," Harry answered.

"Captain," one crew member called, "the Daleks are forming a blockade around the shuttle. They won't last for much longer."

"How're the shields?" she asked, weighing up the idea of just brute-forcing their way to the shuttle.

"Holding on, but not by much. We're directing too much energy into evasive manoeuvres to sufficiently recharge them."

Okay, so brute-force wasn't an option. Janeway crossed the idea off of the already dwindling list of possible approaches.

"Harry, how can you feasible push the transporter's range?" she cried.

"On a good day, 40,000km," Harry answered. "But with all the energy currently being used on the engines and to keep the shields from collapsing, and the interference from the Dalek ships, I can only push it to a maximum 10,000km."

"How far away are the crew now?"

"Current estimations are just over 12,000 km and decreasing," the co-pilot replied.

"Okay, if we can break off from the Mothership, and close the distance, could we beam them up?" Janeway supposed. "It's got to be worth--"

An explosion from the screen in front of them interrupted their conversation. Janeway stopped mid-sentence, swivelled to the display in from of her. Their marker was no longer there. All that was left was fire and floating metal. Silence reigned. Janeway felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Captain," the co-pilot said shakily, "The shuttle has been destroyed."

The announcement came like a punch to face.

Janeway could only stare in stunned silence as she processed what had happened. No, it couldn't have. Four of her closest friends and most extinguished crew members couldn't now be dead. They couldn't be. Surely the Daleks hadn't just wiped them out, without so much as a fanfare. Four brilliant, beautiful and benign people she cared for, gone in an instant. That wasn't--

For one of the very few times in her life, Janeway was lost for words, struggling to realise that she would never see them again.

"Captain?" Harry called, a slight choke in his voice. "Captain."

Janeway turned to face him, an apology on her pale features. She didn't know. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to react. Harry too, was frozen, stuck in time.

Suddenly, a sound that the crew of Voyager had never heard before started to rumble and announce its presence in the bridge. It sounded like a groaning, warping sound as if the very fabric of the room was being mounded to fit this new entity. Janeway braced herself against the sudden gust of wind that was spiralling around the newcomer as the air was displaced around it. The sound filled the room as a cuboid object began to materialise in the room, a shining blue intermittent light illuminating all around it. Soon, the roaring of time and space subsided with the full materialisation of what looked like a wooden blue box. Janeway looked up at the sign on the door, stating its identification as a 'Police Box'.

The doors swung open. Janeway armed herself. Four people hurried into the bridge. It was the shuttle crew. Janeway immediately lowered her weapon and flew to them.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" the words tumbled about of her mouth. Just before they could answer another voice was heard from inside.

"Yes, yes! They'll be fine," it said, it's deep British accent resounding into the helm room. "It's you lot that I'm worried about. As should you be!"

A tall man stepped out from the box, clad in a raven overcoat with dark blue lining, with a complimenting waistcoat, trousers and shoes. His weathered face held a pair of wild eyes that were currently whirling around the bridge, searching for something.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Janeway asked, her phaser once again raised.

"Excellent questions, but I'll explain later. Got a starship to save!" the stranger continued, rushing towards the helm controls.

"Stay where you are!" Janeway commanded. It seemed to fall on deaf ears, however as the eccentric carried on meddling with the controls.

"Oh, would you look this at this! You don't even have coaxial warp yet! That's adorable. Oh, who am I kidding? It vintage!"

"Who are you and what--"

"I'd say the reason being was that you didn't want to take the risk," he continued, after punching in a few commands, sending the ship into warp on a route away from the Dalek ship, "Coaxial warp is dangerous stuff. But considering you're the type to hear the words 'Dalek invasion' and not immediately run away, I'll put it down instead to a lack of experience. Not that it matters. This warp drive will get you there fast enough."

He turned from the console to face the captain, a smile plastered on his face, his hands in his pockets.

"In any case... greetings, brave space travellers! I'm the Doctor. I just saved your ship and every  
living soul aboard. You're very welcome.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the first chapter, the first step into the unknown. Scary stuff, I know. So, our heroes have met the Daleks for the very first time and have come face to face with the eccentric Timelord himself, the Doctor! Tune in next time for more of 12 giving the crew what's what. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, I'm all ears, even to the harshest criticism. I really wanted to get this show in the road, so if it feels rushed, don't worry, the pace slows down from here. Any artists wanting to illustrate the story just message me your work and I'll add it into the chapters, with full credit given and a link to your other work. Until next time, boldly go!
> 
> EDIT: Grammar and spelling checks. General quality of writing improved.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the turns this day had taken, Janeway concluded that this was probably the strangest. A blue police box had just materialised out of thin air, carrying four people who she had just presumed dead - thank heavens, she was mistaken - and now they were faced with a mature gentleman in a raven suit and wild, grey hair who had just fiddled with their navigations systems. And as it turned out, he was 'The Doctor', the elusive figure that the Hollan distress message had told them to find. If she didn't know any better, Janeway would have thought this was a startling coincidence. As a Starfleet captain, however, she was no longer allowed to believe in coincidence.

"So, you're the 'Doctor' that the tape was referring to?" Chakotay asked.

"Indeed, the one and only," he replied. "The original, you might say. A 'thank you' would be welcome any time, now."

"The original," Janeway repeated, her tone betrayed her cynicism.

"Yes, yes, the original," he announced, "The Doctor..." He gestured expectantly. Whatever he was waiting for, it never came. He sighed, his hands - once raised in a theatrical stance - fell to his sides. "Seriously? Nothing? No one? Not one 'Doctor Who?' No? Aww, that's my favourite part."

"I think there are more pressing questions to be asked," Janeway explained.

"Oh, I see," he began, but she interrupted him.

"For example, who are you?" She asked, slowly advancing. "Who do you work for? Where do you come from? How did you get here? And what is that?" She exclaimed, pointing at the blue box imposing itself on the bridge.

He looked to her, then to the box, and raised his eyebrows.

"Very good questions," he replied nonchalantly. "And I might answer them, but for now, I've got other things to do."

He produced a small cobalt instrument from his pocket and pointed it at the helm, flashing it on for a moment. "I've just set you a course out of this sector of space. The Daleks shouldn't be far behind, though, so don't get comfortable."

"Don't change the subject, you are an intruder on my ship, and I don't take intruders lightly."

"I just saved your friends; a little gratitude wouldn't go amiss."

"Don't patronise me," Janeway growled.

"Then back off," he ground back, just as ferociously.

"Captain," Chakotay intervened, separating the two, "This isn't exactly productive."

"Agreed," Tuvok amended, "What is important is that we escaped. The nature of our escape will be examined later."

"I won't be here later," said the Doctor. "I'm afraid with these kinds of ventures I don't tend to stay around much."

"And why's that?" Janeway asked.

"Because I've got things to do, places to be... a vault to guard... Listen, I've got many things that are demanding my attention, so if you don't mind, I'm just going to hop in my TARDIS and leave."

"TARDIS?" Janeway asked. "What on Earth is a TARDIS?"

"Well, it's that," the Doctor pointed towards the blue police box. "It's a ship that can travel anywhere in space and time."

"I happen to know that no police box can do that!"

"This one can," the Doctor smirked.

"How?"

"Very advanced engineering, far too complex for you to understand."

"We've heard some crazy stuff before," Chakotay countered.

"Well this is beyond crazy," the Doctor explained. "To understand the engineering which created this vessel would require a brain capacity that humans do not possess. If I gave you the answers you wished for as I understood them, they would fry your human brains like an overworked computer. Fizzle the wires clean!"

"So, you won't tell us," Janeway stated rhetorically.

"Correct! Besides, you humans quite frankly don't need the technology."

"What if it's to get home?" Chakotay asked.

"The use of dimensional engineering is fascinating," Tuvok commented. "We could store more resources in less space if we were to implement in a practical sense. We could also provide more living quarters to house extra crew."

"How do you mean, Tuvok?" Janeway asked.

"Captain," Tuvok explained, "The ship appears to have an exterior of a Police Call Box from Earth. However, its interior is much, much larger - easily twice the size of this bridge."

"... Okay, I can accept, to an extent, that this 'TARDIS' has the capacity for space-time travel," Janeway said shaking her head, "But you're saying it's... bigger on the inside?"

"He is not mistaken, captain," Seven clarified. "The ship's interior is substantially larger than the exterior would suggest. I saw so myself. We all did."

Janeway sighed, palming her face with her hand tiredly. This day just kept on getting stranger and stranger.

"Do I even want to know how that works?" she asked.

"If you want your brain to implode," the Doctor quipped back.

"And the way this thing can travel," Tom marvelled. "We went from the shuttle to the bridge almost instantly! How far can it go?"

"Wherever and whenever," the Doctor replied sceptically. "Distance is of no relevance to the TARDIS. Unless I want it to be."

"Amazing! 75,000 light years in a couple of seconds! We have to give it a shot!"

"Possibly," the Doctor conceded, striding towards the box. "But what happens when you get home, and suddenly everyone wants a piece? Your federation is invasive enough as it is, you don't need me giving you a leg-up." He clicked his fingers, and the TARDIS doors flew shut and bolted. "You don't need this technology, and I'm not giving it to you."

"Captain--"

"Tom," Janeway hushed.

Tom fell quiet, not wanting more reprimand, even from a stranger. Especially from one who had saved his life. Actually, speaking of which.

"Well, besides all that, just... thank you," Tom said.

"For what?" The Doctor asked.

"For saving my life."

"Don't mention it; it's what I do."

"What," Harry scoffed, "You just go around saving people who are in trouble?"

"Yes, most of the time, in between a good book or some sightseeing."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because..." The Doctor paused. He thought for a moment, before replying. "Because I can, I suppose. When you're as old as I am, you find that it becomes an obligation."

"What, at sixty-five?"

"Nonsense, I'm nowhere near sixty-five. Try two thousand and sixty-five, and you'll be getting there."

"Two thousand?!" Chakotay exclaimed.

"And sixty-five. And that's just from when I gave up keeping track and started counting again."

"How is this possible?" Seven asked. "No humanoid species has been known to have a lifespan that long."

"I'm afraid that's another trade secret," the Doctor replied, shrugging his shoulders, "But I do find that an occasional refreshment is a good idea."

"Is there anything that you'll tell us?" Janeway asked as he made his way back towards the box. "You haven't even told us your name."

The Doctor stopped, the statement seeming to hit a nerve. He turned to face the bridge, his face set in stone.

"I'm the Doctor," he said. "Just the Doctor. That's all that matters. I'm over two thousand years old. I've saved the universe more times than I can count. I've made a lot of enemies, met a lot of friends and sacrificed more than you'll ever know. And I'd do it all again if I had to because it's what I do. And you're welcome. Always welcome."

It was at that moment, a moment of confession, that Janeway found that she could almost see all two thousand of those years. Not in his face, necessarily, but his eyes, in his cadence, in the way his body seemed to relax, and his breathing became even and calm. It occurred to the captain only then that she was staring into the eyes of an ancient creature. And suddenly it all made sense. Too much sense to handle. She almost wished he had remained a whimsical paradox, as opposed to the crushing reality he suddenly become. And as quickly as it disappeared, the mischief he had possessed since he arrived manifested once again.

"Well, I'll be off." He turned and clicked his fingers, opening the doors of the box. "Oh, and don't stop running. Not for at least a week. The Daleks are persistent. You see any mention of them; you run like hell. No, don't argue, there's nothing you can do. If there's a problem, people usually call me."

"Like the Hollans? We scanned the entire world, no life signs." Janeway explained. "We were worried that... they..."

"Well, that's because you were looking in the wrong place. I set them up on a nearby system. I suggest going there and asking them what happened yourselves if you're curious, although that was over two hundred years ago, so don't expect them to be firm on all the details. Anything else, anyone? No? Okay, bye."

And with that, the doors flew shut. A few moments later, the box began to dematerialise, fading away just as it had arrived, leaving not a single trace that it even was there.

Janeway sighed, palming her face that had tightened with stress.

"Captain," Chakotay said, "I'm sorry that we couldn't find out more about him."

"Don't worry about it. I'm thankful that he managed to bring my crew back alive," the captain said, a smile decorated her face as she looked upon each of the shuttle's occupants. "Besides, I think we might be seeing him again soon enough. Let us check out this system he mentioned, might be able to get some supplies while we're there."

"Affirmative, captain. Laying in course," Tom replied. He walked to his station, allowing the ensign that was sitting there to be relieved of duty, and took his place. Before he could input the location, however, he noticed something. "Captain, we're already on that course."

"Pardon?"

"We already have a course laid in for a nearby system, heavily populated. Not a few light years from here."

Janeway paused in contemplation before the penny dropped. She smiled.

"I do believe that was one extra favour from the Doctor," she said, remembering how he was the one to lay in the course when they escaped.

"Tricksy bastard," Tom chuckled.

"Language, lieutenant," Chakotay reminded him as he took his commander's seat.

"What? I've already had one brush with danger; it's the adrenaline talking," he joked. Janeway chuckled back, brushing the curse under the carpet. After all, life's too short to worry about matters such as a casual slip of the tongue.

"Well, let's get to it," Janeway announced. "I want to see if what this Doctor said is true. It's time we see what these Hollans have been getting up to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our crew have finally been properly introduced to the Doctor! Is he someone to be trusted? What secrets is he hiding? What's inside the blue box? Will they ever see him again? What will they find on the Doctor's course? And does the Doctor's story check out? Find out the answers to all these questions and more by reading. Or will you?! No, you will, don't worry, I'm not cruel. OR AM I?! No. No I'm not. 
> 
> I hope I got 12's personality down, he is one of my favourite Doctors after all. Capaldi is an excellent actor, and getting his speech patterns and mannerisms down in writing is difficult. You have to strike the right balance of being familiar but not parody. You'll find that the Doctor here will be in this story quite sparsely compared to what you'd expect. I want the Doctor to be a special occasion when he shows up so he - or she! - could appear at any time! Thanks for the support, guys. See you next time, folks.


	3. Chapter 3

Port Cotriol. The self-proclaimed melting pot of the sector was bustling with life. Over ten billion people lived on this extended trading zone; the entire planet converted into an eco-friendly docking station and city. It indeed was a miracle of alien engineering, but they didn't have time to stop and appreciate it. They had supplies to get, and some Hollans to meet.

"So," Janeway began, to the assembled crew in the meeting area, "We need Dilithium, food, spare parts and another shuttle if we can salvage one, preferably a Starfleet model but I'm not picky."

"We'll organise some runners to find spare parts and Dilithium," Chakotay clarified. "Neelix, you handle the food. Be'Lanna and Tom; you two can find us a replacement shuttle, make sure it's in good shape. Tuvok and Seven, I'm trusting you two to gather as much information on the Doctor or the Daleks as possible."

"Chakotay and I," Janeway continued, "Will find out what happened to the Hollans, see if the Doctor's story checks out."

"What about me, Captain?" Harry asked. Janeway turned to address him.

"While we're away, you are to be promoted to temporary Captain," she explained. Harry's eyes widened and he sat a little taller.

"Are you sure?' He asked.

"Quite certain," Janeway confirmed. "You can't remain an Ensign forever. And besides, I certainly wasn't going to leave it with Lieutenant Paris."

"No offence taken, I guess," Paris scoffed amiably.

"Thank you, Captain," Harry replied after a pause of thought. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will," Janeway replied. "Now, while you're Captain, I expect you to run a tight ship, make sure nobody goes wandering off. I want regular scans for Dalek life. I know we took a long way round to shake them off our tail, but I'm not risking it. If they come anywhere near this sector, I want you to notify everyone immediately; hopefully, it will give us enough to warn others and to make our escape."

"Surely you don't mean running away?" Harry asked, indignation threatening to creep into his voice.

"I'm afraid that will be the only option," Janeway replied calmly and solemnly. "We simply cannot fight the Daleks; they're too powerful."

"We've fought off the Borg before, and they're one of the most dangerous species in the galaxy," Harry protested.

"You saw it yourself, Harry. One blast - ONE - was enough to obliterate our shields. And that was from one ship. The Borg have never possessed energy weapons that powerful, and certainly not on just one of their ships. What would we do if two showed up? Or three? Or an entire armada? What then?"

Silence engulfed the room. No one knew what they would do. For once in their careers, the crew of Voyager was facing an enemy where they couldn't fight back.

"They won't respond to diplomacy either," Janeway continued. "They had zero reasons to attack us, we didn't pose any danger to them or their species, and they fired anyway, intent on annihilating us. And they have the weapons they would need to do it. We cannot talk to them; we cannot stand up to them, we can only run and hope that they don't find us."

"And what if they find their way to Earth?" Tom asked, dreading the possibility.

"If we make it back first then we can warn Starfleet," Chakotay replied, "And that's why Tuvok and Seven's mission is so important."

The assembled crew turned to the pair.

"The more you two can find out about these Daleks," Chakotay explained, "The more prepared Starfleet will be against any possible invasion. Find out anything you can. Weaknesses, a planet of origin, hierarchy, weapons, ethics, anything and everything, can help us. The more we know, the less danger they present."

"Exactly," Janeway concluded. "And if we can find out more about this Doctor, that could also give us an advantage. That man knows more about the Daleks than he lets on, he could be an invaluable asset to out military knowledge."

"I do not believe he would collaborate with us if it were with military intent," Seven commented. Janeway paused.

"She does have a point," said Tuvok. "He did seem reluctant to indulge any information about his ship."

"Even if the information he had could help us?" Harry scoffed. "Doesn't sound like a doctor's ethics to me."

"If he is a real doctor then I'd say it was," the ship's Doctor offered. "I know as a medical practitioner that indulging our knowledge in a military application is highly unethical. History has taught us that several times already, and I think that it's our responsibility not to let it happen again."

"We get the point, Doctor," interjected Janeway. "This is a debate for another day, but your point is valid. It wouldn't be fair to ask the Doctor to go against medical ethics. He chose the name for a reason; I say we honour it. But the least we can do is ask for his help if we can find him that is..."

"I shall stay on board and help Ensign Kim monitor the crew," Doctor announced, "And make sure Neelix's ingredients don't bring any unwanted pathogens onto the ship."

"Thank you, Doctor," Janeway replied. "Now, we'll be reaching our docking space in five minutes. Once Chakotay and I leave the ship, Ensign Kim will be in charge. We'll meet back on the ship in five hours. Until then, you know what to do."

* * *

The port itself was even more complicated than it first appeared. Every street seemed to be filled to the brim with its history and culture, as thousands of species collected their most beautiful wares for sale. Every known Starfleet race, as well as several unknown ones, were bustling through the chaos of a multicultural free market. Every building seems to be built as much from bark as it were from brick, as beanies weaved themselves through the shop windows and into the open air above. Children played in the road, the elderly debated in the cafés, the traders discussed over prices.

Tuvok and Seven kept close ranks, to make themselves seem like less easy targets. They shuffled past each of the bundles of people waiting in line for business, and some of the more energetic auctioneers who were enthusiastically bidding. Each turn in the road seemed to lead to more and more shops and crowds, and soon it was beginning to become difficult to keep track of where they were going and where they had been.

Whenever they tried to stop someone and talk to them, they seemed to ignore them or carry on walking regardless, often spouting that they had somewhere to be.

After two hours of fruitless wandering, the pair decided to investigate one of the cafés to get some answers. The walked up to an elderly couple of Hollans, who up until that point had been engrossed in their drinks.

"Good evening," Tuvok greeted. "We are--"

"Go away," they said in unison and turned back to the game.

Tuvok was taken aback, although his Vulcan training refused to betray any evidence of such.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "But could you tell us--"

"We don't answer to anyone in the company of Borg," they explained bluntly.

"She poses no threat to either of you," Tuvok replied. "She is an ex-Borg drone, and has no wish to follow the Borg or their philosophy any longer."

"Are you joking?" One of them exclaimed. "Once a Borg, always a Borg - that she what we say!"

"Well put, dear," the other complimented.

"I assure you both; she is of no danger to either of you."

"Certainly," Seven replied as calmly as she could. "I have no desire to harm anybody--"

"Hey! Who let the drone speak?" They both shouted in unison, their frantic movement causing their sagging antennae to flop around. "We should have her reported!"

"I will repeat once more: she isn't no danger to either of you. Now may you please--"

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted from behind them. They turned to see an alien that looked like a four-armed iguana towering above them with two of their arms crossed. "I'm afraid you're disturbing my guests. Are you alright, Tarny and Yok?"

"We were," they replied with startling unity, their antenna even glowing, "But our calm lunch was interrupted by these hooligans!"

"Now, sir, I can assure you--" Tuvok tried to calm the situation.

"Hooligans, eh?" The alien interrupted, chuckling with little amicability. "Dear, oh dear. Can't have that, can we? You two shall have to leave."

"I was simply trying to ask for information," Tuvok explained.

"Information? Does this look like a tourist centre to you?" the alien asked condescendingly. "This is a café, not a museum. We sell drinks."

"Then perhaps could you direct us to one?" Seven asked.

"Hey, I wasn't talking to you, drone!" he barked. "Shut up, before I sell you for spare parts!"

"I do not appreciate your tone," Tuvok commented.

"Oh yeah?" The alien laughed heartily. The old Hollan couple snickered. "Did I offend ya, pointy ears? Would ya like me to speak softly for ya, now? Whatcha gonna do-"

His voice failed him before he could finish his sentence. Tuvok had reached up to his collarbone and initiated a Vulcan pinch. The owner was instantly immobilised, fighting to stay standing from the pain. The old couple's chortles seemed to die away, as they realised who was really in charge of the situation. Tuvok slowly, sternly, rounded on the lumbering creature.

"We require information for a highly important mission, and you have done nothing but impede on our progress," Tuvok spoke with deadly calm. "Tell us where to access the information we need, and I shall cease."

"O-o-okay," he grunted, "J-just go to that corner and take a r-r-right! Then t-take a left and then a right! Should lead you t-to a m-museum. Please let me go!"

"Thank you for your cooperation," Tuvok stated, realising him from the pinch, "It will excuse your lack of manners." The owner collapsed to the ground holding his neck as the two Starfleet officials excused themselves from the scene.

"You did not have to do that, Commander," Seven said.

"I know," Tuvok replied. "But you are my close associate, Seven. He was not. He did not deserve to speak of you that way, and you do not deserve to bear his abuse."

Although the two had an agreement that they're relationship was without unnecessary emotion, Seven distinctly remembered being touched by his statement. It was one of the few times she ever felt pride since her escape from the collective. It was not an unwelcome feeling.

* * *

"Light titanium casing, five photon torpedo capacity and a grade 5 interface with a small tri-core engine. We might have our shuttle! Don't you think, B'Elanna?"

The engineer did not reply.

"B'Elanna?"

Silence continued. Tom sighed.

"Hey, Paris to B'Elanna? Hello?"

"What?" she replied, started out of her thoughts.

"I asked--"

"I know what you asked."

"And what do you think?"

"What? Oh, yeah, it's fine I guess," she waved him off. Tom gave her a sceptical look.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied sharply, "Nothing's wrong."

"Come on, B'Elanna," Tom scoffed. "You've been barely taking all day. At least give me an explanation."

She turned to him before speaking.

"I don't trust him," she explained.

"Trust who?"

"The Doctor," she replied.

"Who? Our doctor?"

"No! This 'Doctor' that everyone is swooning over! He shows some up once, and suddenly he's the talk of the ship. Well, I don't buy it."

"How come?"

"Isn't it obvious? He's some con artist or something, working with the Daleks."

"How did you come up with that idea?"

"Well, what another kind of person just randomly appears in the nick of time to save us from the dastardly Daleks, that he somehow knows everything about, only to not explain why and how he did it! I mean he wants something!"

"I didn't get that impression from how he then proceeded to leave without asking for anything."

"That's the trick! We trust him now, don't you see? So the next time he shows up saves our skin again, he'll maybe ask for a small fee. Nothing substantial, but enough for compensation of his heroics acts! And then he turns up and helps us the next time and asks us for a bigger reward, and so on until--"

"B'Elanna!" Tom interjected. "Let's not make a scene in the middle of the store."

She looked around to see everyone in the garage staring at the pair. She glared at them, causing all but one of them to turn away politely. B'Elanna sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just... the way my life works is that I lose everything. And last week I nearly lost you. We were hopelessly outgunned, and you were stuck on that tiny little shuttle, and I couldn't help you. Knowing my luck and how my loved ones end up... You should have died. Then this miracle man shows up like some act of God and saves you in some impossible machine and I..."

Tom chose that moment to intimate a hug. B'Elanna hugged him back, relaxing into him.

"You just can't believe it," Tom finished her sentence for her. He looked down at her. "B'Elanna, you don't have to believe him. You don't have to believe that he's some altruist who did it purely for the good of others, or that he knows about the Daleks just because. But the important thing is that I'm alive. I'm right here, with you, alive. Even if it's because of some British dude in a magical blue police box, that doesn't matter. Sometimes things just happen by chance, for no reason, despite all the odds saying otherwise. I mean, who would've thought we'd become as close as we are, huh? Sometimes the impossible just happens. Just... Be glad it happened in our favour, alright?"

B'Elanna sighed. Annoyingly he had a point. The Doctor could be a hoax, he could have secrets, but the most important fact was that Tom was here with her. Although her suspicions weren't extinguished, she could at least appreciate what she got out of it.

"Okay," she conceded. Tom smiled.

"Good," he replied. "Now, let's get back to finding a new shuttle. Now this one could--"

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt."

The couple turned to see a furry creature with a cloak around its square shoulders facing them. It struggled to hold its weight on its wooden walking stick.

"Hello," Tom greeted, "What can we do for you?"

"I'm sorry to barge into your conversation... but did you mention the Doctor?" it asked in a frail voice.

"Yes," B'Elanna replied cautiously, "I suppose we did."

"Good," the creature replied, the frailty in its voice gone, as it produced a small phaser from its cloak and pointed it at the couple, "Because you'll be coming with me."

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will Tuvok and Seven find? What situation have Tom and B'Elanna gotten themselves into this time? What secrets does the the Port contain? Find out soon by reading the continued adventures of the starship Voyager in the following chapters of Time and the Delta!
> 
> So, Port Cotriol. To anyone who has read 'The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet' (and if you haven't, go do that right now!) you'll recognise that as a reference to Port Coriol. Pretty on the nose, but I couldn't let one of my favourite sci-fi installments go unmentioned. The scene with Tom and B'Elanna I thought was necessary, since she actually wasn't on the bridge when the Doctor scenario happened, so she would've been told what had happened second hand. Of course she'd find it ridiculous to believe. Seven is a particularly complex character and I'll be giving her more development in her downtime, but this is the first step towards that and her trying to understand individual interactions and the specific emotions that come with that. Pride, or a feeling of satisfaction from someone's companionship, is a sentiment that Seven has probably never felt before, so I thought that could be the first stepping stone for that character. I can't wait to carry on! I'll see you all in a jiffy.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, following the cafe owner's instructions, Seven and Tuvok found a small museum, to which the sign read "Port Cotriol Museum - Powered by the Inforarium".

"This seems like the right place," Tuvok commented.

"Indeed."

"Let us hope we can find the information we require."

The pair stepped into the museum foyer, where a pink lady in modest, formal attire greeted them.

"Welcome to the Inforarium museum of Port Cotriol. May I show you around?" she asked in a sweet, rehearsed tone.

"Indeed you may," Seven replied.

"Excellent. My name is Hex, and I'll be your guide for today," the pink lady clarified. "May I take your names?"

"I am Seven of Nine, and this is Commander Tuvok of the Federation starship Voyager."

"Seven of Nine and Tuvok," Hex noted. "Very good, what do you wish to see first?"

"Do you have any information on the Hollans and their involvement with the port?"

"I assume you are referring to the mass immigration the port received over two hundred years ago?"

"If that is what it is referred to as, then yes," Seven replied.

"Well, lucky for you we have just updated our exhibit on the Hollan emigration. Shall we begin there?"

"Yes please," said Tuvok. "And may we please have the simplified version first? We are short on time."

"Of course, Tuvok. Now, the emigration began two hundred and twelve years ago due to a mass-scale invasion by the Dalek fleet. The Daleks had surrounded the planet with a full armada in a matter of hours and without warning.

"Many scholars argue as to how many ships were deployed by the Daleks, by the most commonly accepted number is twenty million individual vessels, the biggest fleet in the galaxy as of yet recorded."

"Why did the Daleks attack Hol in the first place?" asked Seven.

"It is believed that the Daleks attacked Hol simply out of spite. The entire mission of the Daleks is to terminate all non-Dalek life in the universe."

"Is that all?"

"They believe they are the perfect species, and that all other life is worthless. They are so passionate about purity that they at one point splintered into two opposing factions in a civil war. If you want to learn more about this subject, please proceed to the War and Conflict section of our collection, search 'Dalek Civil War'."

"It sounds like the Doctor was correct in warning us," Tuvok commented. "It also explains why they were so dismissive at our attempts at democracy. Can you give us any more information on the Daleks?"

"Certainly. The Daleks originate from a planet called 'Skaro', created in the planet's nuclear war as soldiers and weapons combined into the perfect killers."

"Any weaknesses?"

"None viable, that we know. We have never been able to examine a live or dead Dalek, as their casing tends to self-destruct when their occupant is killed."

"Occupant? You mean that living organisms pilot those casings? Those are not robots?"

"No. We have no images of the living pilot, be we believe that they are the mutated remains of the inhabitants of Skaro."

Tuvok paused in contemplation.

"If we found a way to infect the occupant, could that be a suitable deterrent?"

"That has already been tried," Hex stated sadly. "It was called the Movellan virus, and it was said to be extremely effective at killing the Dalek mutant. The only problem is that the ones who know how to make it, the Movellans, have been all but wiped out by the Daleks, and those who know how to reverse engineer the virus have since passed. I am sorry, we are as disappointed as you are."

"Thank you," Tuvok replied, biting back a surge of disappointment.

"Please continue," Seven said to Hex, deciding to hasten the investigation.

"Of course," Hex complied. She pressed the second button on the display's interface, and a holographic image of the planet Hol appeared in front of them - several red markers pinpointed areas of interest, whether they be colonies or military outposts.  "The Daleks began attacking the planet almost immediately, starting with all major cities. They planned to disorientate, then move in to secure their resources. The death toll was incredible at first, but as the invasion continued, less and less were exterminated, until the Daleks realised - after two weeks of extensively searches - all of the Hollans had escaped the planet."

"How?"

"Most sources corroborate that they escaped via the interference of a man called the Doctor."

The hairs on the back of their necks stood up. For some reason, the name had the feeling of a cold wind brushing across their graves. Maybe it was their sudden anxiety meddling with their sensory functions, but the room seemed to fall quiet at the Doctor's mention.

Unabashed, Hex continued.

"We believe he had in his possession a ship that allowed him to carry all of the Hollans off the planet and to this Port, where a relief effort had been mounted to help accommodate the refugees."

"Can you give us any more information on the Doctor?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Why?"

"All files corresponding to the Doctor have been corrupted with a memory filter, rendering all retention of the information impossible."

"Who would do that?"

"We do not know. We suppose it may be the Doctor himself. However, another theory is the Cult of the Healer."

It was a name that rolled off of her tongue like a scream. Seven and Tuvok looked around them, noticing how everyone had turned to their conversation - listening, waiting, for the words that would come next. The two exchanged a brave glance before bracing themselves. Tuvok decided to speak.

"What is the Cult of the Healer?"

* * *

Somewhere different, a secret place tucked away from prying eyes, a human and a part-Klingon were being corralled down a dusty side passage, apart from the safety of the crowd. The furry, cloaked alien - no longer in need of his crutch, and standing much taller than before - was efficiently blocking them from view.

"What do you want from us?" B'Elanna exclaimed. The mugger poked her back, prompting her to be quiet.

"We might be spotted," the mugger warned. From the look of the several sharp teeth that glinted from behind his thick lips, the couple could only guess what would happen if they continued to refuse to cooperate.

"Maybe that was the point," Tom whispered cynically.

They had been lead through the marketplace to a dark corner of the town and were currently standing in front of a small alcove in the side of a building. The alien had instructed for them to remain completely still, or he would open fire, killing them both. From his irritated demeanour, Tom and B'Elanna presumed this was no empty gesture.

Soon, the alcove slipped away, revealing a hidden passageway. The mugger pushed them through using his surprising strength. The two Starfleet personnel were shuffled down the dark hallway until the door behind them slid shut, cutting off their escape.

"Move!" The alien barked. Tom and B'Elanna gave each other a reassuring glance and carried on forward. They knew that the mugger needed the couple for something; otherwise, the mugger wouldn't have spent so much effort, risking police detection, to escort them there. The hallway itself was covered in markings, dating back hundreds of years. Some were complete nonsense, but one, the most prominent symbol, was all too familiar to the both of them. It depicted a tall box, with windows, a sign above its doors, and a shining light above it.

"That's... that's the Doctor's ship!" Tom concluded, remembering the same vessel that had materialised inside of the shuttle bridge. What he wouldn't give to have that method of escape at his fingertips, especially in times like this.

"Yes! The Doctor! Precisely!" The alien sqwarked at them, his demeanour changing to utter glee. "You know the Doctor! You've met the Doctor?"

"Yes..." B'Elanna replied uncertainly. "We're not exactly friends with him if that's what you're thinking."

"No one is 'friends' with the Doctor!" The alien barked at them, seemingly offended at her dismissive words, at the informality of her phrasing. "Such as how one is not friends with the sun, but we praise it nonetheless!"

Tom and B'Elanna looked at each other, realising their predicament. A micro-conversation occurred between the couple.

"Oh, crap."

The mugger pushed them towards the large glyph as the stone doors began to open, revealing the dimly lit chamber inside. The two of them were pushed through, and the heavy doors shut, echoing throughout the room menacingly, cutting off their means of escape.

No one noticed the trio disappearing into the alcove, and those who did quickly averted their eyes, pretending not to see anything, glancing behind them as a sudden chill glanced up their spine. 

* * *

Far away, in the centre of the marketplace, Janeway and Chakotay were pacing through the alleyways of the port, unaware of their officers' predicament. 

"So how do we approach this?" Chakotay asked with mirth. "It doesn't seem like asking a random stranger for their entire species' history is not going to go down smoothly."

"Well, how else do you suppose we do it?" Janeway replied sharply.

"Find an information centre? A library?"

"Well, I think that if you want to know the culture, ask the people," Janeway explained. "Information centres? Libraries? They water it down. We need to get it from a first-hand source."

"Well, you're the captain," Chakotay conceded.

"Well, Harry's the captain now," she added with a grin.

"Yes, he is. Any particular reason why you decided he needed a snap promotion?"

"What can I say? He's a good kid, hard-working, honest, devoted..."

"Indeed he is."

There was a potent silence between them. 

"Kathryn."

"Chakotay."

"I can tell when you're on edge."

"I'm not on edge," she replied, dying her best to smile. Chakotay seemed to notice the strain.

"I can also tell when you're lying," he added pointedly.

Janeway sighed. She held her face in her hands, trying to wipe it clean of her worry.

"It's just... all four of you, on that shuttle - you would have been dead if the Doctor hadn't shown up. And for a split-second, I didn't know he had rescued you. I only saw the shuttle exploding."

Chakotay furrowed his brow. Janeway turned away to learn on a nearby railing.

"No matter how much training you do, no matter how much you try to accept the possibility, losing your crew is something that you can never prepare for. I guess you could say it threw me off guard, realising that I had sent you all to your deaths on that shuttle, realising that I had failed you all - no, don't interrupt me!"

Chakotay stepped away to allow her some space.

"And it would've been my fault. I was your captain; I was meant to take care of you all, make sure that nothing happened to you. And for a split-second, I was convinced that not only had I failed to do that, but that I'd also lost part of my family. Because you, Tuvok, Seven, Tom, B'Elanna, Harry, Neelix - hell, even the doctor - you are my family. And seeing my family taken away from me, it's not something you take lightly.

"I've just spent nights in the mess hall, drinking coffee and having flashbacks to that moment, realising how close I was to losing you. It just doesn't compute, it's like something in head snapped, and all I could do was exist. I had so much that I had planned to show you all, so much that I wanted to say but never got round to saying it. I had so many plans on how we'd all grow and develop over the years and the prospect of all of those hope vanishing... So when you ask why Harry's promotion? Because why the hell not? He could be gone tomorrow, the day after, next week, and I couldn't even begin to cope if he didn't know how much I recognise his efforts, and proud of him I am. And that goes for all of us! I mean, can you see what we have on Voyager? What we have is something short of remarkable, and even if we don't make it back to the Alpha Quadrant, we should be proud of what we've achieved. I know I am. I'm proud of every one of my crew, and it's about time I showed them that! Before I can't, and I'm stuck just... being."

Chakotay stood stock still in contemplation, staring at his captain. There was not a single shred of despair or pity in her voice as she spoke, in fact, she practically exuded pride. Of all the confessions he expected, that wasn't it. He had never realised how close she had bonded with the crew, and in regard, he recognised that he had formed a similar bond with his crewmates as well.

Tom andHarry, whilst annoyingly sly at times, was the closest thing to brothers he had, and B'Elanna and Seven were like sisters in some regard. Tuvok, Neelix, the Doctor, all the people who he treasured in some way. And Janeway - well, he had admired Janeway for a long time. Every time he stood with her, she reminded him why she was the captain. He'd follow her to the ends of the universe. He knew that from the moment he got to know her.

Chakotay took Kathryn's hand and held between his own, clasping it with renewed confidence.

"I think you'll find that you're crew are as proud of their captain, as she is of them," he said. "It's an honour working beside you Kathryn." She laughed.

"Of course it is," she replied with a smug little smile. "Well, it's certainly an honour to have a first officer who thinks so highly of me."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain," he retorted. She laughed even harder.

"Alright, enough of the buttering contest," she conceded. "Let's go find some Hollans."

"Yes, Captain," he replied. He held out his arm for her's to coil around, and she accepted in good humour. "Now shall we start with the bars or the cafés?"

"Well, I thought maybe we should check out the market square. I think we're sure to find some willing participants for our inquiry."

The two strolled calmly towards the square, which held a magnificent stone fountain, in which many children of different species were splashing around. The two smiled as on began throwing water bombs at the other, causing them all to open a free-for-all. One stray bomb landed directly on the ground in front of them, soaking their uniforms and promoting them to laugh wholeheartedly. One little girl with tiny antennae came running up to them with a bit of towel in her hands and panic in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cried as she tried to dry off their legs with her towel. Kathryn smiled and tried to comfort her.

"It's alright," she chuckled, patting the girl on the head. "It's just a bit of water, my dear."

The girl’s eyes widened. She started to shake uncontrollably.

"Lulu! It's okay!" A man came running up to her and picked her up into his arms. Janeway looked up to examine him, and her eyes too widened. The man standing in front of them was human. Pale skin, dirty blond hair, grey eyes, flat forehead, two arms, two legs, standing at just over six foot. Human. The first human they had come across in a long time. Chakotay recognised this too, as his face had turned from admiration to complex confusion. The two shared a glance, asking the same question:

"How?"

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this human? What are they doing in the Delata Quadrant? What is the Cult of the Healer? Where are Tom and B'Elanna being taken to? Why do they praise the Doctor so eagerly? Find out the answers to all these questions in the further adventures of Time and the Delta!
> 
> The Inforarium was a fun addition for me, considering it had almost been forgotten in Doctor Who canon. I imagined it as the Wikipedia of the universe, with the museums being a physical access to its contents. Of course, Doctor Who viewers will know that the Doctor was the one who placed a memeory filter on the data files concerning him, which is one way that I like to reward both Star Trek and Doctor Who fans. It's a fun little nod, I hope. Now, the human character... well I think I'll save him for the next chapter. Wouldn't want to ruin the tension, would I? I'll see you guys next time, and remember, if you want to have your illustrations for this story featured just send them over and I'll put them in. Hope you guys are having a fun time, and see you next time!


	5. Chapter 5

"How?"

"What do you mean?" the man asked as he held the young Hollan in his arms, his voice gruff, resembling a rougher British accent. She seemed to have calmed down once he had arrived, Janeway presumed that he was a caregiver of some kind, but the way he held her suggested parent. But those questions aside, she still held confusion galore about his mere presence in the system. He was the first lone human they had seen in the Delta quadrant so far, apart from the group on that L-class planet so many light years away, and that in itself was a miraculous occasion. He looked to be only in his late twenties and reasonably well built, none of which suggested how he got here, but it was something to note.

"I'm sorry," Janeway replied, deciding that her inquiry should not forgo her manners. "What I meant to say was, I'm Captain Janeway of the starship Voyager, this is my first Officer Chakotay."

Chakotay greeted him with a handshake. He took Chakotay's hand firmly, the two deducing each other as they shook.

"What we're asking is..." she paused to contemplate how she would go about the inquiry. "You are... human, correct?"

The man looked confused. After realising that they were serious, he looked down at his body and back to them.

"One would guess so," he replied. "I suppose I am."

"Okay," Janeway confirmed. "Now, why are you all the way out in the Delta Quadrant?"

"Delta Quadrant?" He asked. "Oh, yes! Of course, this is your Delta Quadrant isn't it?"

Janeway's curiosity deepened. He knew of the federation and their index, but his hesitation suggested that it was overly familiar to him. So, he wasn't of Starfleet intelligence.

"Dear me," he continued, "I think I've been here for... well, since before Lulu here was born. Do you want to say 'Hello', Lulu?" He whispered to the young girl in his arms, but she shook her head and tried to burrow deeper into his embrace. He smiled at her. "She's quite shy usually so don't be offended. Lulu's six now, aren't you Lulu?" The young girl nodded, blushing at the attention. "We live with her grandmother, over by the square."

"Is she your daughter?" Janeway asked.

"No, no, just a family friend, but I've been with her since birth," he explained. "Her parents were good friends of mine, and her grandmother... well, we go a long way back."

"Where are her parents now?" Chakotay asked. "Or is it none of our business?"

The man's face seemed to darken, his hold of the little girl shifted so that she was huddled nearer to him. He looked them both in the eye, shaking his head as if in confirmation. The two Starfleet crew conceded and quickly dropped the subject.

"I notice that we never actually got your name," Janeway commented. The corners of the man's lips lifted as if imitating a smile.

"Very few do," he replied cryptically. "It's Pedra. Pedra Horatio Dravik."

"Horatio?" Janeway asked.

"Yep, like the Admiral," he explained.

Janeway was thoroughly confused. He was a young human man, who had been in the Delta Quadrant a while if he was to be believed, with an alien name and only a slight grasp on the Federation - which was common knowledge on Earth - but who knew Earth maritime history. She looked to Chakotay, who to her relief seemed equally as confused. However, while this development was definitely in the merit of an investigation, the two of them had another mission to complete.

"Well... thank you for answering our questions," Janeway said, after a pause. "I hope you two have a lovely day."

"My pleasure," he replied, setting Lulu on the ground next to him, her hand in his.

"Actually," Chakotay quickly added, "You know the Port better than us. Do you know where we can get any information on the Hollans?"

"Grandma knows," a little voice piped up. They looked down, to find that it had come from Lulu, who was now beaming.

"You're right, Lulu, she does," Pedra congratulated, ruffling the hair in between her antennae. "We can introduce you to her if you want."

"Oh, we wouldn't want to intrude," Janeway protested.

"No, don't worry about it, we always welcome guests," Pedra assured. "Let's go see her, shall we?" Lulu nodded frantically, causing Pedra to smile.

"Oh, well, thank you very much," Chakotay seemed almost stunned by their hospitality.

"Well, it's the least we can do," he replied.

"Do you think she'd know anything about the Doctor as well?" Janeway asked. Pedra stopped dead in his tracks. He quickly swivelled around, as if looking for something in the street around them. Seemingly satisfied by his search, he turned back to them, his previously aloof nature disappearing.

"It's best if you don't mention that name in public," he explained. "Before you ask why, it's best if you come with us, where we can explain in private. We don't want them knowing that you're looking for the Doctor."

Janeway and Chakotay glanced at each anxiously, the conversation quickly taking on a more covert nature. They both looked around at the marketplace, studying the faces surrounding them in case anyone was listening, then turned back to Pedra. Drawing in closer, Janeway quickly whispered.

"Who's 'they'?"

* * *

 

"The Cult of the Healer," Hex replied, "Is an underground organisation that has been present in the port for several decades. Their main aim is to gather as much information on the Doctor as possible; they believe he is some deity and that the Hollans' exodus was a sign of his coming."

"So, they're fanatics?" Seven asked.

"In every sense of the word," Hex confirmed with a scowl. "There have several documented cases of abductions, and every murder, attributed to the cult, but their location and members have never been uncovered."

"What do they intend to do with this information?"

"No one knows, but rumours have been going around that they are planning a military coup of some kind."

"A coup? Why?" Tuvok asked.

"It's just a rumour for now," Hex assured, "But the group is deeply xenophobic. It used to be a celebration of the Doctor as a healer of wounds caused by outsiders of the port, welcome to anyone who wished to join, but it has recently regressed into a tool for recruitment. They have managed to twist the moral of the Doctor fighting invaders into the cult fighting anyone they deem unwelcome."

"Such as the Hollans?" Seven offered.

"In most cases, but they seem content to discriminate against anyone who doesn't have a long family history within the port. There are many aristocratic figures from old Cotrolian families that have been accused of affiliating with the cult, but the evidence is lacking at best."

"So, if they were to find anyone asking about the Doctor specifically?" Seven asked.

"It is common knowledge amongst citizens of the port that you don't talk about the Doctor in public, or else you could risk being abducted by the cult," Hex explained.

Had Seven and Tuvok not been beings of emotional discipline, they would have shown signs of panic by that point, as they remembered Janeway and Chakotay would be doing precisely that.

"We have to leave, immediately," Tuvok announced.

"Oh, going so soon?" Hex asked. "Would you like to leave a donation?"

"Our donation will be transferred to this establishment later, but now we are in a hurry," Tuvok explained, politely excusing the pair of them as he escorted Seven briskly out of the building.

"We must contact the captain and Chakotay," Seven said.

"Agreed," Tuvok replied, hitting his communication badge as they walked. "Captain? Captain? Captain, do you read me?"

They waited for a nerve-wracking amount of time before they received a reply. The captain's voice soon sounded from the badge, relieving them of their worry.

"Janeway speaking, what is it Tuvok?"

"Captain, we have received new information regarding our search, and it is imperative you hear it."

"Well, what is it?"

"We cannot say it in public, Captain. I request that we meet up and discuss it somewhere safe."

"Alright, I'll meet you at Pedra's house," Janeway replied. Tuvok and Janeway glanced at each other, their anxiety returning.

"Captain, who is 'Pedra'?" Tuvok asked cautiously.

"He's someone we've met just now," Janeway explained. "He's going to explain everything that we need to know. He knows specifically about the Doctor."

Tuvok and Seven's eyes widened in alarm. Immediately they began to sprint as fast as they could toward Janeway's location. Using her com badge, they managed to navigate the crowded streets to her exact location, where they saw a stranger leading her and Chakotay toward a darker alleyway.

Immediately suspecting danger, Tuvok charged at the man. There was a split-second where the man seemed to sense Tuvok's approach, and spun around, only to be knocked back into a nearby wall. The man grunted as the air was pushed out of him, the Vulcan commander using his immense strength to keep the young man trapped. The man took hold of Tuvok's arms and tried to wrench them away from his body, with surprising strength for someone his size, Tuvok noted. Seven had her phaser trained on the man, who at this point was fighting back control against Tuvok.

"Who are you?" Tuvok asked, pushing against the man's neck. "Are you with the cult?"

"What on--" the man tried to say, only for Tuvok to push his palm against his chest, winding him.

"Tuvok!" Janeway exclaimed, momentarily stunned by the sudden assault. "Stand down!"

"Are you with the Cult of the Healer?" Tuvok repeated with deadly monotone.

"Pedra!" A little voice sounded before Tuvok felt a sharp pain in his shin. He looked down to see a small, irate Hollan kicking his legs with all of her might.

"Tuvok," Janeway ordered again, her voice rising to a shout, "This man is our friend! I said stand down!"

"Captain, as the chief security officer, I--" Tuvok tried to explain, but Janeway was having none of it.

"Now, Tuvok!"

Begrudgingly, Tuvok removed his hand from the man's neck. The man spluttered, clutching his neck. The little girl ran to him, enclosing her arms around him whilst glaring at the Vulcan who had dared attack her ward.

"I am sorry, captain," Tuvok said, but Janeway stopped him.

"It's not me you should be apologising to," she replied, gesturing to the man on the floor. Tuvok turned and look at the man he had attacked. He was rubbing his throat where Tuvok had pressed into and was trying to comfort the clearly distressed little girl that was now clinging to him. Tuvok had the decency to feel some guilt over his shortsightedness and offered a hand to the young man. Tuvok knew that his motives were somewhat justified, but decided that motives were beside the point.

"I am sorry," he said calmly. The young man looked at his hand warily before grasping it and pulling himself up.

"Don't worry, it pays to be cautious around her. Apology accepted," he replied. "But next time, if you're really going to do that to someone, aim a little lower on the neck."

Tuvok was a little taken aback by the mirth in the man's voice, but also grateful that the man hadn't developed a grudge.

"Duly noted," Tuvok said, before turning back to the captain. "I know my actions may have seemed unjustified."

"You got that right," Chakotay said, all humour absent in his voice.

"But we discovered something that puts our entire mission in jeopardy," Tuvok continued. Janeway looked sceptical. "Has he told you about the Cult of the Healer yet?"

"No, he hasn't," Janeway replied, looking to Pedra. Petra noticed her glance and the question that came with it.

"Not here," Pedra protested. "If they hear about this then we're all in danger. You should come back home with me. I promise you I'll give you all the answers you need, but not here."

"Captain," Seven said, "It would be far safer to return to Voyager to discuss this." 

"You do that and everyone on your ship becomes a target," Pedra warned. Seven turned to him, staring intensely at him. Her caution had not dissipated, she refused to let her guard down.

"You seem to know a lot about them," she observed. Pedra stared back, refusing to back down. 

"I've been studying them for years," he explained. "I've learned how they operate, but I can't tell you here. They've ignored me for a long time, but if we make a scene, then they'll come for me and Lulu here, as well as her grandmother. Please, captain, we cannot have this conversation here or now."

"Alright, Pedra," Janeway replied, "Where is your home?"

"Captain, are you sure we can trust him? " Seven asked, scepticism apparent in her tone.

"Not entirely, but you can surely trust my judgement, can't you Seven?" Janeway countered. Seven glanced between Janeway and Pedra, her conflicting on whether to trust her captain or to follow her instincts. Truthfully, she did trust Janeway, but the anxiety of something bad happening to her crewmates seemed to rise beneath her. She never had this problem with the Collective. Trust was simply not a necessity when connected to a hive mind, and anything foreign was categorised and assimilated with ease. Now, however, she was an individual, with her own mind and opinions, and she could not do it within herself to trust the stranger in front of her. However, after over a year on Voyager, through the worst of times, Janeway was always a constant source of reliability, even if it came with disagreements. Still, she was finding it hard to trust the man in front of her. He looked like a person with secrets, and there was something about that was just... wrong. He looked out of place, an anomaly, like a single unadjusted tile in a complex mural. Ultimately, the choice was clear, if frightening.

"I... I trust you, captain," Seven replied, steeling herself.

Janeway smiled slightly as if recognising her conflict and appreciating her trust.

"Thank you, Seven," Janeway said. "Lead the way, Pedra. If it's a trap, I'm giving Seven complete authority to neutralise you."

"It won't be needed, captain," Pedra replied. He glanced at Seven, seemingly sizing her up, before turning and leading Lulu onwards. Janeway followed suit, hoping that her trust would pay off and that the rest of her crew were safe from the mysterious force that was seemingly closing in on them. Pedra was right, returning to Voyager would only make it a target. The only option left was to head deeper into the unknown. Just another day at the office, then. If only she had coffee.

* * *

 

"Tom?"

"Yes, B'Elanna?"

"You know you said how I should be grateful that this random twist of fate was playing out in our favour?"

Tom sighed.

"Yes."

"And you know how you thought I was just being paranoid when I thought it would all come back to kick us in the ass some way?"

"Yes, I'm getting the point, B'Elanna."

"Just making sure, dear," she said in a sickly sweet voice, her body swivelling towards him as much as the restraints would allow.

The couple were currently locked into arm and leg restraints on two iron chairs, in a dimly lit room filled with different tools of 'persuasion', of the more painful kind. Just thinking about what half of this stuff did make Tom feel uneasy, and so to keep his mind occupied he decided to try counting the floor tiles in the room. He had currently reached two hundred and four and his eyes hurt from straining. Suffice to say their situation was not an ideal one.

"Do you think they'll start with the kneecaps or the hair?" B'Elanna wondered aloud.

"Honey, your running commentary isn't exactly helping."

"Or maybe they'll go straight for the eyes. I knew a Marquis soldier who endured six hours of torture before being rescued, so I think I'll go for six and a half this time. Small steps and all."

"Well, don't stop me from achieving your goals, honey."

"Hey, if I survive long enough, do you think they'll let me join in when it's your turn?"

"I'm not sure I'm into this kind of stuff, but I'm flattered, honestly."

The two gave out a hollow laugh before falling into a silence of resignation.

"We're not getting out of this one, are we?"

Tom looked to his lover and frowned.

"Well, at least I'll spend my final moments with you," he said wistfully, a drop sincerity bleeding through.

"I don't want these to be our final moments," she admitted. "I imagined us being together, growing old."

"Really?"

"I guess so," she shrugged. "I mean, there's no one else I'd rather grow old with."

"Eventually my jokes will run dry," Tom pointed out.

"Oh, they lost their charm a long time ago," B'Elanna smirked slightly. "I only stayed because you give good massages."

"Glad to know I can be of some use," Tom laughed.

"Yeah," B'Elanna sighed. "Have you ever thought about us?"

"All the time."

"Really?"

"You know I've always wanted to take you to Australia?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, of course. It's a great place, you should see it. The beaches, the opera house, the reef. It'd be beautiful."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I could fix up an old Cadillac, drive you along the seaside roads at sunset, find a nice spot to each and relax. Watch the sun as it dips below the sea... I've thought about that a lot."

"Makes me feel like I should put more effort into my daydreams," B'Elanna laughed.

"Maybe," Tom conceded. "I know romantic stuff isn't really your area."

"You could say that again."

"But I like that about you."

"What?"

"Well, you're always so patient with me, when I go rambling off on some wack dream of fixing a new car or ship or taking you to places you've never even heard of."

"I like hearing those things, though."

"How come?"

She turned to him, a small smile on her lips, her eyes glazing over.

"Because it's from you."

The restraints had never felt more constricting for Tom than in that moment, the moment when he wanted to embrace the woman he cared for more than anyone else. She was so beautiful, even though she didn't think so, he found her enthralling. She never could understand what he saw in her, and he couldn't understand how he could have missed them for so long. Even then, before their inevitable torture at the hands of fanatics, he felt like he could soar, because this amazing woman was next to him, and she loved him back.

The door to the room opened, and a cloaked figure strode in. He walked straight past the torture instruments, clearly not intending for them to be used today. Instead turned to them and smiled, producing images of several people in similar uniforms to the ones the two Starfleet officers were currently clothed in amongst a busy street. The two prisoners recognised them immediately.

"It seems you are not alone."

* * *

 

The house that Pedra had to lead them to was small, and slightly cramped, but just from the exterior, it seemed homely. It was out of the way, a relieving or ominous feature, depending on who observed it. Relieving because it provided a place of security, where no one could find them, and ominous because it also meant that there was no one around to help if things went south. However, as soon as they stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. The room they entered was very well lit, containing a stove, a table and a small bed, along with crockery along the walls. It was bigger than one would imagine, being able to house a small group such as themselves quite comfortably. It was indeed as homely as the outside implied, with everything seemingly worn in. It was easy to see that someone had lived there for a long time, but it was still clean and tidy. It was in stark contrast to the straight lines and neutral grey that the Voyager crew had become accustomed to aboard their vessel. It was almost enough to tempt a sailor from the sea life.

"Momo!" Pedra called. "Momo! We have guests!"

"Guests?" An elderly female voice called back from a curtain that portioned the main room from the private area. The curtain was pulled aside, revealing an ageing Hollan with long, brown hair like her granddaughter's. Lulu smiled and ran to her, giving her a quick hug. "Hello, dear. Pedra, these aren't more of your co-conspirators, are they?"

"No, Momo," Pedra scoffed. He presented the strangers to the older woman. "This is Captain Janeway, and these are her crew from the starship Voyager."

"How do you do?" Janeway greeted, shaking Momo's hand.

"My, my! Hello, Captain," the Hollan smiled. "Is that a federation badge I see?"

"Why, yes. You know of the federation?"

"It's reputation proceeds it, shall we say? Now, why my stars have been brought here, then? Oh, would you like something to drink?"

"Momo, I'll get them drinks," Pedra offered.

"Pah! Nonsense, it's my house," Momo waved her hand. "Besides, I'm not dead yet, son."

"Do you have any coffee?" Janeway asked as casually as she could.

"'Do we have any coffee?' indeed! What kind, my darling?" Momo laughed. Janeway seemed to perk up considerably.

Soon, drinks were served to all four of the Starfleet crew, all sat around the main table.

"There we go," Momo said, sliding the tray towards them. "Get that down ya."

"Thank you," Chakotay replied as he took his cup, "I've been meaning to see what the Captain's been on about."

"Oh, just you wait," Janeway warned, taking her cup, "You'll be dependent before long."

"So," Momo started, taking her seat beside Lulu, who was reading a book, "What can we do for you?"

"That's the thing, Mo," Pedra explained. "They want to know more about the Doctor."

The smile from Momo's face seemed to dim, before she sat up straight. She sighed.

"Well, now that's a long story," she said.

"Don't worry," Janeway said. "We've got all day."

"If you wanted to really know about the Doctor, you'd need all year," Momo replied. "So, where do we begin?"

 

  
...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Momo know about the Doctor? Can Pedra be trusted? What fate awaits Tom and B'Elanna? How dangerous is the Cult of the Healer? Stay tuned to Time and the Delta! 
> 
> So, Pedra Horatio Darvik. A human in the Delta Quadrant. And an original character. Suffice to say I've been combing through Mary Sue sites, making sure that it doesn't happen to Pedra. I imagined him physically as a more scruffy, younger man almost in the vein as Michael Fassbender, but not as good looking. This chapter is barely scratching the surface on who he is and what he has to offer, but suffice to say, especially early on, he won't be as likeable or squeaky clean as you'd expect from an OC. There's a reason I'm putting this character on Voyager, and he's going to change. But I think I'll let you read that for yourself. The scene with Tom and B'Elanna was quite hard to write, as their romance itself is quite a strange one to fully grasp, but hopefully I managed to do it some justice here. Hope to see you all next time, hope you're all enjoying the story so far and don't forget to send your comments or even artwork my way. Or don't. It's a free net.


	6. Chapter 6

Momo looked tired. The twinkle in her eye had faded, replaced with melancholy. The years reflected off of her eyes like the moon on a calm lake.

She looked at her guests, people who were looking for answers, and determined to get them no matter what. Following a stranger to his home, putting their safety in her family's hands. Their drive and naïveté reminded Momo of her children.

Her daughter, her son-in-law. Two brilliant people. Their daughter, her granddaughter, was just like them. Lulu was going to grow up to be an amazing person, she and Pedra knew it.

Pedra - she had always found humour in his chosen name; "Initials," he said - had taken it upon himself to help raise Lulu, help her grow into the genius he knew she could be. He didn't think what he did was making a difference, that he could just slip away one day and Lulu wouldn't notice, but Momo knew better. He thought they would be better off without him, and maybe they truly would be safer, but she knew he would suffer if he were to travel alone. He had done it before, and from the stories he had told, something had always gone wrong. She was almost glad that the cult was still active, because it gave her more time to convince him to stay for good, but she knew that the static lifestyle wasn't something that he had an affinity to, and for good reason. It was selfish of her to expect him to stay forever. She knew the conflict he faced. He could leave in good faith, or he could stay and one day bury her and her granddaughter. Lulu needed him, but he needed his old life back. Everyone did.

She turned back to the Voyager crew and began her tale.

"The story of the Doctor is a long one, scattered throughout all of time and space. One day, you will meet him, and on that day your life will change completely, and then he'll disappear just as suddenly as he arrived. He can be anywhere, anytime, anyplace, anyone. In some ways, I suppose he is like a deity. A man of extraordinary ability and influence, near omnipresence, omniscience and omnipotence. But I know the Doctor, I met the Doctor. Which one did you meet, again?" she asked.

The crew looked confused.

"Who did you meet? Describe him to me? Or she. It has been known."

Janeway decided to answer, deciphering the meaning of the question first.

"He had grey hair, Scottish, black coat, quite tall," she answered.

"Ah," she smiled. "Twelve."

"I'm sorry?" Chakotay asked.

"When the Doctor is close to death, instead of passing away, he regenerates."

"Regenerates? Like a starfish?" Janeway asked.

"What's a starfish?" Lulu asked.

"Well, dear, a starfish is a marine animal we have on our planet," Janeway explained. "When it has its limb cut off, it regenerates it, growing it back. Is that what he does? Is that why he's called Twelve? He's regenerated his limbs or organs twelve times. It does explains why he ages so slowly, if he can regenerate faulty organs or limbs."

"Interesting, but not quite true," Momo explained. "No, no. The Doctor does age extremely slowly, but he doesn't just regenerate whole limbs, when he's dying, he regenerates his entire body, every single cell."

The table fell into silence, too stunned to reply. Janeway's brow shot up.

"So... when you say 'Twelve'..."

"Mhmm," Momo said, nodding her head. "Twelve times, by the time you had met him. But he's had more. Remember, his timeline isn't strictly linear or synchronic with ours'."

"So, he's had more bodies?" Chakotay asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"The latest I'd say, or the latest we've met him, he was on..." she paused to count. "I'd say fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Chakotay exclaimed.

"Indeed. The fifteenth incarnation," she replied. "Not counting his... murkier... history." Pedra' face seemed to darken. Momo swiftly moved on. "The Doctor's ageing is process is significantly slower than any normal humanoid, and I think the the longest he's lived in one form has been about a thousand years."

"Oh, my..." Janeway whispered, holding her head in her hands. "When he said he was over two thousand years old, I thought he was exaggerating."

"Hardly," Pedra said. "You think that's bad, he didn't tell you about how he lost count and had to start again."

"That's just from starting again?" Janeway exclaimed. "How old was he when he lost count?"

"Nearly a thousand," Pedra replied. Janeway paled, struggling to imagine the amount of time the Doctor could have possibly lived, all the people he had met, all the places he had been to. She realised just how insignificant her journey must have looked compared to his lifespan. Hell, seventy-five years to him must be a heartbeat.

"What species can sustain a life span that long? Where did he come from?" Seven asked, her patience for awe running thin.

"The Doctor is from a planet long since gone, destroyed in a horrible war that ravaged the universe," Pedra explained. "Some say he fought in it. Some say he was the worst of them all... He was forced to end it. Some say that his planet is still out there, somewhere, lost. Only he'd know," he scoffed cynically.

"What was this planet's name?"

"Gallifrey."

For some reason, every inhabitant of the room felt a shiver run down their spine. It was as if the name itself carried some kind of power, transcending all languages and species.

"It sounds almost Welsh," Janeway commented.

"You're not the first person to tell me that," Pedra smiled. "The Gallifreyans themselves can live for extraordinary amounts of time, as long they are in good health, but they can't regenerate. That gift was discovered through genetic engineering."

"Genetic engineering?" Chakotay asked. "What kind of genetic engineering causes full body regeneration?"

"An extremely complicated kind," Pedra replied. "It's rumoured that there were three main Gallifreyans that made Gallifrey into the planet that it was. One of them was a scientist called Rassilon. He was the one that genetically engineered the regeneration process. He was a genius, an absolute genius, capable of incredible feats. He, along with the other two, even managed to conquer time travel, hence why the citizens of the Gallifreyan high society are called Timelords."

"And, I presume, the Doctor is a 'Timelord'?" Tuvok said.

"One of the last," Pedra replied. "When he was young he stole one of Gallifrey's old time machines and ran away, and has been running every since."

"You know a lot about him. Do you know him?" Janeway asked.

"My daughter, Lyla and her husband, Pux, joined him in the TARDIS for a long time," Momo rejoined the conversation. "Pedra... Well, he travelled with them. They actually saw him regenerate, from fourteen to fifteen. They said it was nothing they had ever seen, that he would explode into flame, only to reappear, born afresh, a whole new person. The one they travelled with was more arrogant than his other incarnations, but his kindness knew no bounds. He always was up for a challenge, I remember, and they weren't far behind. Even while Lyla was pregnant, they didn't stop getting themselves into trouble. It... wasn't meant to last as long as it did. I told them to quit once Lulu was born, but I think they were addicted by then. They started to gain attention. Started taking bigger and bigger risks, until one day they had an accident--"

"You say 'accident' like it wasn't anyone's fault," Pedra said, a scowl adorning his face.

"It wasn't," snapped back. "I'm certainly not blaming it on the Doctor if that's what you're implying."

"There's no one else to blame," Pedra growled, his fists clenched. "It was his fault, his mistake--"

"And I think he paid more than his due for it, don't you? Or do you not think losing his closest friends was enough?"

Pedra lowered his head, the hatred that burned within being drowned by shame.

"If anyone has the right to hold a grudge, it's me," Momo said, her voice stern. "It's my daughter that was lost, my son in law that was killed, my friend that... If I'm not holding a grudge, I certainly don't expect you to, not for me and not for Lulu either."

"I'm... I'm sorry," Pedra whispered. "I just... I can't..."

"I know," Momo cooed, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "I know, Pedra, I know. I miss them too, but hating him isn't going to make the pain go away."

The Voyager team suddenly felt very out of place, as they were intruding on something deeply personal for their hosts. Janeway was preparing to offer that they left the room before Momo looked to them, and began to explain.

"They found out about the cult and what they were doing, how many people they were abducting and murdering. They went to confront them, to do what they always did and save the day. But it was a trap, a deliberate scenario set up by the cult to lure the Doctor to Cotriol. They were caught in an exploding building... and Pedra was the only one to survive. Ever since then, the Doctor has been missing, and Pedra has stayed here, helping me raise Lulu."

The crew turned to Pedra who was starring straight towards his cup, his eyes unfocused, shining with unshed tears.

"So, when we say that we have no affiliation with the cult," Momo continued, "We mean it. Pedra has spent years researching and trying to infiltrate the cult, so that one day we can finally destroy it for good."

"That's why I know so much about the cult," Pedra explained, looking particularly towards Seven, "And why I'm all the way out here."

"Do you have a way to get back home?" Chakotay asked him. Pedra looked to him for a moment, but shook his head wearily.

"It's not about whether I can go back, it's about making sure that I do what needs to be done."

"But if you could go back, would you?" Janeway asked. Pedra turned to her, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you proposing?" Pedra asked.

Janeway leaned forward.

"We're travelling back to Earth, in the Alpha Quadrant," she explained. "If you hold your keep, we might be willing to accept you on board, so that you can get back home, to Earth."

"Who says Earth is my home?" he retorted. He had a point, Janeway conceded, after all, he had a family here, in Cotriol.

"But," she continued, "Surely you have friends and family back on Earth. People who care about you, people who'll notice you're gone."

"Plenty," Pedra shrugged, "But I have people here who'll miss me just as much."

"I'm not saying that it's compulsory," she replied, "I'm just placing my offer forward."

"And I'm sure Pedra will consider it," Momo interjected before Pedra could protest. Pedra gave a dissecting look, to which Momo reciprocated with a glance that promised a later explanation. Pedra relinquished his stare. "Now, it's getting late," Momo said, nodding to the dimming sky. The Voyager crew turned to see that the sun had seemingly vanished from the sky, and that the ambient lights from the small home seemed even brighter more cosy than usual. "I'm assuming that you'd want to leave? Although, you're welcome to stay here if you wish."

Janeway contemplated the offer. She looked to her cream who all seemed nonplussed to whatever she chose, although she also noticed a small sliver of a desire to stay for more beverages, especially more coffee, or was that just her? With her mind made up, Janeway punched her communication badge.

"Janeway to Harry Kim," she called. Soon, the voice of Harry replied from the badge.

"Yes, captain?"

"There's been a change of plan," she explained. "Me, Chakotay, Seven and Tuvok will be staying with someone else tonight, just until the morning," she added, to assure Momo, who nodded graciously. "Are you okay to run the ship for a little longer?"

"No problem, ma'am," Harry replied earnestly. She could practically hear him standing to attention.

"At ease, captain," she chuckled. "We'll see your tomorrow. I'll com you if we have any trouble. Neelix!"

She punched her badge, redirecting her call to the resident chef.

"Yes, captain?" Neelix answered, physical strain evident in his voice.

"Have you finished your grocery rounds?" she asked.

"Just loading the last... one!" he explained, huffing as the last package was placed on the mess hall counter. "I've found some real delicacies, I can't wait to start cooking!"

"I can't wait to try them," Janeway smiled. "Listen, me, Chakotay and the other away team won't be back until tomorrow morning."

"What will you be doing until then?"

"Staying with a new friend," Janeway glanced towards Momo, who chuckled, rolling her eyes.

"Alright then," Neelix chorused, "Just take care tonight, captain. Not that Harry is the worst captain we've ever had, but he's a bit too... authoritarian for my tastes."

"How do you mean?"

"He had a poor ensign that had a dirt smudge on their lapel confined to the brig for 'inappropriate hygiene'."

"Well, at least he hasn't caused mutiny... yet."

"He's taking the job very seriously."

"I knew he would. Hopefully, you can manage a few more hours without us."

"Of course we can," Neelix grinned. "I've dealt with worse people than Harry Kim, far worse. If anything he's one of the better captains I've ever worked under."

"Well, then you should have no problem," Janeway concluded.

"Indeed," Neelix conceded. "Well, I've better get to making dinner."

"Very well. Janeway out."

* * *

Neelix closed the com channel from his badge, and walked behind the counter, handling his favourite apron. He giddily examined the treasures he had found in the market, rubbing his hands at the limitless potential for culinary that he had accessed. His entire counter was packed with exotic fruits, crops and spice, already to be used and crafted into delicious dishes. It was at this point that Harry chose to enter the mess hall, and for the first time looked upon the stacks of food that had appeared gradually over the course of the day.

"My, my, Neelix," Harry said, awestruck, "That's a lot of spices."

"That just the tip of the iceberg, my friend," Neelix replied, walking round to show Harry the rest of his wares. "I manage to find some Cotriolian delicacies, real rare ones, if the merchant was telling the truth."

"So, probably not, then."

"Well, you may mock my efforts, but even if we didn't want to eat some of this stuff, I thought that if we cultivated enough, we could sell it for more supplies. I mean, look at this beauty."

He grabbed a potted, light red plant with wavy, wide leaves. For some reason, Harry seemed to want to run away from it.

"Is it safe?" he asked, leaning down to get a closer look.

"I'm perfectly sure," Neelix blustered. "Look, it's meant to be especially sought after for space travel because it's so easy to grow. It's called Rakweed. Not sure what a Rak is, but I'm sure it can't be that dangerous. Apparently, there's a species called the Blathereen who absolutely crave this stuff, so if we needed a bargaining tool, this could be it."

"Well, I'm not so sure..." Harry said skeptically. "I mean, we barely know anything about this plant. I could ho--"

Suddenly the red plant opened its leaves, and hundreds of tiny spores burst out, getting caught up into Harry's intake of breath. Immediately, Harry began to splutter, his face turning pale. Neelix dropped the plant and ran to Harry's side, just as she began to lose consciousness. Neelix jostled him to keep him awake, but it was no use. Harry was out cold.

"Neelix to sickbay!" he called. "We have a medical emergency!"

Neelix turned back to the malicious plant, and noticed that several spores had landed on the floor of the mess hall, and had started growing into whole new plants. Neelix's eyes widened in terror, and quickly hoisted Harry onto the shoulder.

"Everyone out!" he ordered to the few personnel in the hall, who immediately began to evacuate. "Evacuate and seal off the mess hall! Now!"

The crew fled, scrambling to empty the now pre-infestation zone. A couple of staff quickly ran to Neelix, helping him to carry the comatose captain. Once the mess hall was empty, it was promptly sealed.

"Erect a level five forcefield," Neelix ordered. "Make it airtight!"

"Neelix?" the doctor greeted in confusion, having arrived promptly from sick bay. "What happened?"

"It was one of the plants I bought! It just started spewing spores everywhere! Harry breathed some in, and now he's..."

The doctor's brow furrowed as he leaned down to scan the unconscious victim. The reading came through. The doctor did not relax. It wasn't good news.

"He's comatose," he announced. "The spores have entered his lungs. Bring him to sick bay, we need to stabilise him."

"I'll help," Neelix said, lifting Harry up onto his shoulder with the doctor on his other side.

"This," the Doctor grunted as they hurried down the corridor, "Neelix, for the record, is why I'm so cautious about your food!"

"You don't eat my food! You don't even eat!"

"It's about the principle, Neelix!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Janeway had just ended the call with Neelix. Pleased to know that her ship was still functioning as smoothly as it always had, she paced back to the group.

"It seems we have until morning," she announced.

"We'll be happy to have you," Momo said.

"We'll be happy to stay," Chakotay replied.

"Good, then I'll get more coffee going."

* * *

Seven watched from her seat in the corner of the room as the rest of crew-mates sat around the table and drank. They had spent the last few hours laughing and chatting to the old Hollan grandma about life in the Port; about the abolition of religion several hundred years ago; about the turbulent adjustment period that the Hollans experienced when they first arrived; about anything they could talk about, really. She had decided to vacate the conversation and found a small chair where she sit and read some of the volumes on the shelf. She also happened to be sat right next to the window, allowing her a brilliant view of the night sky. She looked up, almost as if counting the stars. She recognised none of the constellations, even from her intense studying in the astrometrics lab. The stars seemed less overwhelming when they were presented on a computer screen.

She tore her eyes away from the expanse, trying to focus back on her book, only to have her eyes stray at the sound of a little girl's laughter. Her sight landed upon Lulu, who was giggling at whatever Janeway had told her, clutching a small toy and rocking on her chair. She imagine what she would look like with blond hair and cleft chin, a smaller version of her, she realised. Her child. Seven managed to sober herself before her emotions got the better of her. She had been recently contemplating parenthood, she noted; not intentionally of course, just in moments in her spare time when she wasn't working on her calculations. She knew exactly when it had started. It was when she had met One. She thought back to the Borg drone, and frowned. It had occurred to her that her relationship with One was the closest she had ever come to being a parent, considering that One had come from a part of her, but she never expected his death to hit as hard as it did. It had hurt. She had felt pain. She had never felt pain in the collective. She realised how far she had come since her liberation. From being cold and calculated, emotionless and detached, to being able to form enough of a connection for it to hurt. She found an irony in seeing pain as an achievement. Pain meant imperfection, and imperfection wasn't tolerated in the collective. But she wasn't in the collective anymore, she was an individual. An individual with their own opinions and feelings.

An individual who felt lonelier than ever.

"What are you thinking about?" a voice asked from beside her. She turned and frowned when she realised that it came from Pedra, who had taken the seat next to her.

"That is not of your concern," she replied.

"Probably not," he conceded. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. You looked a little sad."

"I'm fine," she said, a little more forcefully than she had intended. Pedra raised an eyebrow. Seven sighed, recognising that he wouldn't be fooled so easily. There was only one thing that would stop him from pestering her, and that was the truth. "I do feel sad, and I do not know how to cope with it."

"Why do you feel sad, Seven? Can I call you Seven, or would you prefer something else?"

"No, Seven is fine," she answered, placing down her book. "It happened a few weeks ago. My implants had managed to create a new drone from my Borg technology and the DNA of another crewman. It was not connected to the Borg hive mind, and could therefore experience more individuality than other drones. It could also experience emotions to a greater degree, and over the time I spent with it... with him, we grew an attachment. The closer I could describe it would be a parental relationship. In some ways, he was my..." She trailed off, unable to complete the the thought, unable to fully admit her grief.

"He was your son," Pedra completed for her. She nodded. Pedra sighed, adjusting in his seat, he seemed almost familiar with the situation. "What happened to him?"

"We were found by the Borg a few days after his conception. They have wanted to assimilate us for a long time. We knew that if they managed to assimilate our drone, then they would be unstoppable."

"How come?"

"The drone has used future technology to build its body."

"Technology from the future?" Pedra asked. He sat up and leaned forward. "How did you get that?"

"I am unaware of the full story. I only know that it allows our Emergency Medical Hologram to move freely around on and off of the ship."

"A mobile emitter?"

"Correct," Seven confirmed a little skeptically. Confusion set in as she questioned how he could know about the emitter. Seemingly in response to her query, he carried on talking.

"I visited the future frequently in the TARDIS," he reminisced. "I remember at one point we went to a tech museum where they housed mobile emitters. Some of the staff used them. You should have seen it, photonic and organic life forms living together. Of course, it was a bumpy road to get there, filled with ethical quandaries and safety laws and prohibitions, inhibitions, liberations..." For the first time since she had met him, Pedra seemed to harboured a twinkle in his eyes. It spoke of fondness and warmth, and for some reason she found herself transfixed by the look, as if it were telling a story older than time itself. As soon as it had appeared, however, he shook it away, and the dark and deep regret soon silhouetted his eyes once again. "I'm getting off topic."

"I do not mind," she assured him, wanting to encourage him to find that twinkle again. He seemingly refused, urging her to carry on her story instead. Seven resigned herself, reminding herself that whatever he was going through was his share, not her's to unearth. She was glad that the doctor's social training was finally becoming relevant. "In order for us to get away, the drone accessed the hive mind and caused a self-destruction. However he was heavily damaged, and even when we got him back onboard, he refused medical assistance. He died right in front of my eyes, and I couldn't do anything to help him."

She didn't know whether to feel gracious or irritated at the pity in his eyes, but she knew that that was the normal human reaction to this news, so she decided to simply accept it.

"I'm so sorry, Seven. I know how you feel," he said solemnly. She suddenly felt a bout of anger swell within her

"Do you?" she replied.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'd rather not say," he replied, giving a stare that sufficiently communicated that fact. "I'm just trying to help you. The last thing you can do is to get angry at me."

Seven disciplined herself, and his glare was retired.

"That's better. Now, have you ever felt this before?"

Seven looked up and shook her head.

"I did not feel this kind of emotion until after I lost One."

"'One'?" Pedra asked.

"That is what we designated the drone," she explained.

"One. I see," he said, as if he were noting it down.

"This is an emotion that I am unprepared to counter."

"You don't counter emotions, you experience them."

"Then how do I stop experiencing them? How do I stop feeling this way?" Seven asked almost desperately. "Everyday I wake up and I feel these emotions pushing against me, I feel incomplete."

"That's not something I can answer for you, Seven," Pedra explained sadly. "These things you're feeling are not something that's quantifiable or constant, they vary from person to person, instant to instant."

"How does that information help me?"

"I suppose it doesn't," Pedra shrugged, "But it's better than being completely in the dark, especially someone like you, who's never had the emotional growth others have."

"I wish I did not have to carry this burden," she wished.

"Don't we all," Pedra chuckled humorlessly. Suddenly, a small and subtle thought crept into Seven's mind.

"The Doctor," she whispered. Pedra turned to her and stared.

"I'm sorry?"

"If I can find the Doctor again," she explained, "I could go back with him and save One."

"Now, Seven--"

"I could stop him from overloading his internal systems. I could stop him from dying, correct?"

"Seven--"

"Why not? I could do it, I could save him."

"Seven, it wouldn't work."

"It could--"

"No, it wouldn't," Pedra stopped her. "One's death is a fixed point in your timeline. If you were to go back and change it the paradox created would be disastrous."

"But One would live, surely?" Seven argued.

"Space and time would fracture, reality would puncture--"

"But he would be alive--"

"Seven," Pedra forced her back to the present, "It. Would not. Work."

Seven flinched at his tone, withdrawing into herself. Pedra sighed, releasing the tension from his body, as he noticed Seven's sudden change in demeanour. He regretted having to be so blunt to her, but he couldn't allow herself to entertain such a self destructive fantasy. He remembered what devotion to a ghost would do to a person.

"Seven... I know you want to say goodbye to him. I know that what you're experiencing now is something that you haven't been equipped for, or have been told about and I know it can be hard. I know that you wake everyday wanting to see them again, I know that nothing can replace them. The best you can do is not to let it control you."

He looked to Seven, who had by now gone silent, her eyes glimmering and wet. He could see her battling to remain in control.

"Don't let it beat you," he said softly. She looked up at him, her lip trembling, despite her best efforts to stop herself. Her face was composed into a picture of depression.

"How do I stop it from hurting?" she whispered. It reminded Pedra of a small girl, lost and alone, pleading for help. To Seven, it was. The Annika Hanson in her was starting to domineer. "How do I make the pain go away?"

He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder.

"It doesn't," he said. She looked distraught. "It never really goes away. It's always just there, right at the tip of your mind. The only thing we can do is to move one, to carry on moving."

"How do I do that?"

"You've made a good start already," Pedra reassured her, gesturing to a lone tear that had betrayed her. She wiped it away quickly. "Don't bottle it up. Let it all out. Don't run from it, because no matter how far you run, it will always be there. Give yourself some time to let go of all your composure and your image, and just grieve."

Seven stared at him, into his eyes, hoping to find some silver lining, an easy way out. She found none, and looked down at the carpet, hoping to hide her weakness.

"Why do humans want this?" she asked. "Why do they desire this, over the Borg?"

"Because pain is a gift," Pedra answered. She looked back at him, his face set in stone. "Without pain, without emotion, we can't feel the horrors we inflict. We become cruel. That's what the Borg are. That's what they'll never understand. That's why you're stronger, Seven, because you can take it, because it can't - it won't - beat you."

And suddenly she saw it. She saw what Janeway had seen in her all along. She saw what made humanity so special. It was their ability to brave emotion, unapologetically, and come out on top.

"Why are you helping me?" Seven asked. "I have not been exactly amicable since I've met you."

"That doesn't matter," Pedra waved it off. "It was just the nice thing to do."

"But you don't know me," Seven said. "You wouldn't know how I'd react."

"No, I didn't. But I did know that you would continue to be sad if I didn't do something," Pedra explained. "Now, come and join us back at the table. I'm sure Lulu would like to play a game of chess with you."

"I wouldn't want to interrupt," Seven said in an attempt to mask her anxiety. Pedra picked up on it, however, and waved her up with an outstretched hand.

"Come, sit with us," he beckoned softly. "We'd love to have you."

Seven slowly stood from her seat in the corner, and cautiously followed Pedra back to the table, where the others had just finished telling Momo about the time when they had run into the Krenim time ship. They paused their story to welcome Seven into the fold. The part-Borg sat hesitantly, before being offered a cup of coffee. She declined the offer graciously.

"Would you like to play a game of chess with me?" Lulu asked, holding up her miniature board. Seven relaxed her features and agreed. Lulu smiled and looked to Pedra. "Did I do it right?"

"Did you do what right, sweetie?" Pedra chuckled.

"Offer to play chess with her, just like you asked," she replied. Pedra's face froze in an awkward smile. He turned to Seven slowly, expecting her to be outraged at his manipulation. Seven had no such reaction.

"It's the thought that counts," she assured him. He smiled in relief, as the two girls began their game.

Janeway smiled at the pair, glad that Seven had finally decided to join them. Momo noticed the look on Janeway's face as she studied the two. It was a look she recognised well. It was own face, whilst she was raising Lyla. A mother's face.

"You have a nice family," Momo said. Janeway turned to her and patted her hand.

"They can be a handful sometimes," she said. "They tend to get into trouble a lot, some more so than others. Oh, for example, my lieutenant Tom Paris once... Tom... Where's Tom and B'Elanna?"

Chakotay sent her a confused glance.

"They didn't report in when we checked," Janeway explained. Chakotay quickly caught on and signalled Voyager with his badge. "Chakotay to Ensign Kim."

There was no answer.

"Chakotay to Harry Kim!"

"I'm sorry, Chakotay," Neelix's voice replied, "Harry can't answer right now, he's in sickbay."

"Sickbay? Why? What happened?"

"Um, it's hard to explain..."

Suddenly a sound of scuffling was heard and the voice changed to the doctor's.

"Let's just say I'll be doing double checks on Neelix's ingredients from now on."

"Well, can you at least tell me whether you've seen Tom or B'Elanna recently?"

"Not since they left the ship," Neelix replied. Janeway's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Chakotay, I can't help you there."

Janeway hit her combadge and called for her two missing officers. There was silence as they waited for a response, any response, to signal the wellbeing of her crew. After a few seconds, someone picked up. But it wasn't Tom or B'Elanna. It was a sickly sweet voice, sly and conniving, and very, very unnerving.

"Captain Janeway," the voice addressed, in a raspy and drawling tone. Pedra's head jerked towards the combadge, towards the voice that still inhibited his nightmares, his eyes widened in alarm.

"Who are you?" Janeway called in as authoritative a tone as she could muster. "Where are Tom and B'Elanna?"

"They're fine, although they won't stay that way for long, unless of course, you make yourself present," the voice chortled. The crew sat up straight, looking to each other in panic.

"Who is this? What do you want with them?"

"Who are we?" the voice asked. "We are the Cult of the Healer, and you're all invited to our glorious ceremony. Come along, and please don't delay. Mass starts in one hour, and if you're not present, then your friends will be the first to be offered at our altar. Goodbye, Janeway. I'll be seeing you very, very soon."

 

 ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does the Cult of the Healer want with Tom and B'Elanna? What will befall our valiant heroes, trapped in the jaws of a fanatic group? What will await our heroes when they venture into the lion's den? Find out next time!
> 
> So, the longest chapter I've ever written. It was doozy to complete, but I think it was more than worth it. This is the kind of stuff I had been planning for the story, more personal interactions, more subplots, more references, and more Voyager goodness. This chapter we get the Rakweed from the Sarah Jane Adventures, returning to cause more trouble, we have an explanation of Pedra and his past, and how he got there (but is it the whole truth?), we've got Janeway's love of coffee in there too and we have a deep character moment from Seven. One of the problem that the show had was, in order to keep the series moving, big emotional moments like One's death had to be resolved in the rest of the episode. I understand that it was to make sure stories didn't bleed from one episode to the next in ways that felt like loose ends, but in a medium like this, where I can have as many chapters as I want, and the ability to focus on any moment in as great a depth as I choose, I decided to give these moments a bit more weight. Seven's grief is something I hinted at back in chapter 1, and now, with Pedra's help, she can begin to heal. Can she help Pedra in the same way? We'll have to see, but something tells me this will be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Wink wink.
> 
> Right, I'd best be off writing the next chapter. It's time for mass.


	7. Chapter 7

"I can't simply barge in," Janeway said. It had been a couple of minutes after they had received the message from the so-called 'Cult of the Healer', and they quickly began to draw a plan of rescue. Janeway wanted nothing more to rush in and find Tom and B'Elanna as soon as possible, to make sure they were unharmed, and to kick the arse of whoever had dared to try to use her crew against her. Despite her panic, she knew that to run in unprepared would be suicide, and that is they had a plan then they could fashion a quicker and more efficient rescue.

"I agree," Chakotay chorused. "It's too risky. We have no idea what they'll have in store for us once we get there."

"Now, who said anything about 'us'?" Janeway asked. "He specifically called for me. I'm not willing to put any more of you in danger."

"I'm afraid I simply cannot allow you to go on alone," Tuvok replied. "It would be a fatal error to let you leave without backup."

"Look, we don't know what kind of person we're dealing with," Janeway argued. "If I turn up with a company, he could have you executed for breaking his terms."

"He wouldn't do that," Pedra said. "He's crazy, psychotic even, but I know that he's not crass. He's a showman. It's what happened when he... he killed Pux and Lyla. He made a point of it, planned it out to the very last detail. He doesn't like to be chaotic."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"He doesn't go for results; he goes for spectacle. He'll want an audience," Pedra explained. "He won't kill anyone when he can impress them. Not immediately, anyway. We make a bigger audience; he'll be tempted to make a show of it, buy us more time."

"There, you see?" Chakotay argued to Janeway. "No reason for you to go in alone."

"Alright," Janeway conceded, "I won't go in alone. But I'll be damned if all of you come."

"She's right," Pedra said. "I need someone to look after Lulu in case we don't succeed in taking out the cult."

"You're coming with us?" Seven asked.

"I know the cult better than almost anyone, except for maybe Momo," Pedra replied. "I'm certainly coming."

"Very well," Janeway said, turning to her Vulcan officer. "Tuvok, I'm assigning you to look after Lulu. If anything happens to us, you're to take her back to Voyager."

"Understood, captain," Tuvok said with a curt nod. "And what of Momo?"

"Actually," Janeway asked, looking around the room, scanning for the elderly Hollan, "Where is Momo?"

"She's gone to do some preparations of her own," Pedra explained.

"Which are?" Chakotay asked.

"Notifying the authorities. At least then we'll have some help if things go awry."

"Why can't we direct the authorities to the cult?" Chakotay asked.

"Because even I don't know where it is," Pedra said. "And besides, from what I've heard, their base has several hidden passages, all leading in completely different directions. They could take one all the way to the other side of the city, to a completely different area, unknown to anyone but them, and there are hundreds of these entrances all over Cotriol. They were left over from the monks that used to inhabit the church; it allowed them all to get to church unknown, in secret, after the church's abolition. Of course, the cult uses it to sneak around wherever they please. Lends to their 'omnipresence'."

"So, what do you need the authorities for?"

"Seven, hand me your communicator," Pedra called, holding out his hand. Seven unclipped her badge and gave it to him. He held it up in for of him, pulling out a long, silver device. "Cover your ears, everyone!" He pointed it at the badge, causing a blaring feedback tone so loud that it forced their eyes shut out of reflex. It emitted from not only Seven's badge but every other badge in the room, creating a cacophony. Soon, however, Pedra pocketed the tool, and the sound stopped, replaced with blissful silence.

"What was that?!" Chakotay exclaimed, holding his ears in pain.

"I was rerouting the signal for Seven's communicator, must have accidentally caused a feedback loop. I ought to be more careful with these sorts of things."

"Rerouting it where?" Seven asked. He passed the badge back to her, and she pinned it onto her chest.

"To a remote tracker," he explained. "The authorities have one. We'll be able to detect where you are at all times."

"So that we can track the whereabouts of the cult once we're inside," Janeway concluded. Pedra nodded.

"Exactly. Now, all we need to do is call the Cult up and tell them we're ready to be abducted."

"That's your plan?" Chakotay asked. "Going straight into the lion's den?"

"What choice do we have, Chakotay?" Janeway replied. "They have Tom and B'Elanna. They've stated their terms. The only way we're getting them back is to follow their rules."

"I do not doubt that, Captain," Chakotay explained, "But it's a trap."

"Obviously," Pedra said. "We're faced with an ultimatum, no way out. What's the best way to beat a trap?"

Pedra walked over to the coat rack and removed his jacket, pulling it over his shoulders. Knowing that he had his audience in the palm of his hand, he placed the small silver tool in the inside pocket and walked back to the group. A little glint ignited in his eyes and the tiniest sliver of a smirk formed on his face.

"Spring the trap."

* * *

"How is he?" Neelix stuttered to the doctor, who was at that point scanning a rapidly deteriorating Harry Kim. The ensign looked pale as a lily flower, his breath was shallow and laboured, a small layer of sweat rested on his forehead. He was not well, but Neelix still had to ask. It was his fault. He had bought the plant; he had brought it onto the ship; he had allowed it to spread. A wave of guilt threatened to erupt from him and swallow him up.

"Not good," the doctor murmured. "Not good at all."

The medical hologram closed the device and turned to Neelix.

"The spores from that 'Rakweed' have entered his lungs," the doctor explained gravely. "They're disrupting his breathing. I've had to sedate him to keep him stable, although whether I can wake him is an entirely different question."

"You mean he's stuck in a coma?"

"His neurological activity is decreasing at an alarming rate," the doctor clarified. "If we waste any more time it could become permanent."

"Have you tried finding a way to kill the spores?" Neelix asked desperately.

"Everything," the doctor replied, holding up several test tubes. "Whatever I throw at them, they seem to be invulnerable. It's like you said, these plants were advertised to grow in the harshest conditions imaginable. I can't imagine these spores wouldn't be the same."

"Oh!" Neelix cried in frustration. "I can't believe it! How could I let this happen? I'm the chef! I should've known not to buy from an uncredited source, but it was so much less expensive, and I know we're already on a tight budget..."

"Well, in all fairness, how were you to know that the plants reproduced via spore? The anatomy of the plant would suggest a leaf-based reproductive cycle. I've never seen any plant life like this before, and unfortunately, that also means I have no idea how to kill it."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it just couldn't be killed!" Neelix growled. "Just the perfect way to top off the situation! I've got the captain ill, the mess hall infested and I don't know how to get rid of this damned Rak--"

A suddenly screaming pitch came blaring from Neelix's badge, so loud that he had to cover his ears. The feedback punched his eardrums, wailing like a nail on a chalkboard, amplified to an awful volume. The doctor too grimaced as the wave of sound found his aural processors.

"Turn it off!" the Doctor shouted over the noise. He reached for his and Neelix's com badges, and tore them off of their uniforms, throwing them to the other side of the room. The device collided with the wall, but the sound refused to silence. Now free from the proximity of the sensory assault. However, Neelix began to react, covering the ears of the comatose Harry, who was groaning at the pain in his ears. Thankfully, just as suddenly as the sound had started, it ended. The abrupt silence was almost as deafening as the sound itself, as Neelix struggled to rise above his nausea.

"Wh... what was that?" Neelix asked, waving on the spot.

"It sounded like a feedback loop," the doctor offered, still shaken from the affair. He took a moment to recalibrate his aural sensors and stood up straight. "Whatever it was, it's gone now."

"Good," Neelix sighed. He looked up at the doctor. "Thanks, by the way, for getting it off of me."

"You're welcome," the hologram replied. "I suspect my med bay will be full of deafened crew mates now since I doubt we were an isolated incident."

"You think it hit everyone?" Neelix asked. The doctor nodded.

"We weren't doing anything to cause feedback like that," he surmised, "And whatever it was caused both of our badges to emit the same noise. I suspect that other would have received the same feedback as we did."

"What caused it?"

"I don't know," the doctor groaned, "But it's hardly an omen of good luck. Now we've got the Rakweed and any potential ear pains to contend with. It's hardly our day, is--"

The doctor paused. He looked down at the readings on the table monitor. He read them all. Then he reread them. And for a third time, he scrutinised the data. His brow furrowed in fascination.

"What's wrong?" Neelix asked, noticing the doctor's sudden change in attitude.

"It's the Rakweed spores," the doctor murmured. Neelix's face twisted into a confused expression before he looked toward the same data that the doctor was currently reading. His eyes widened in surprise. The spores were no longer active.

"They're... they're dead," Neelix gasped. "The spores are dead!"

"Exactly," the doctor replied. He stood tall and looked back at the badges lying on the floor in the corner of the room. A sudden inspiration coursed through his program. "And I think I know why."

* * *

In the dead of night, amongst the empty stalls of a deserted marketplace, four silhouettes slid toward a secluded corner. It was the place that the High Priest had arranged for them, out of the way and non-impressive. Just as specified, there was a figure in a dark red cloak waiting for them. It acknowledged their entrance by looking up and pointing a rifle at them. With the weapon loaded, they directed the group toward a small, claustrophobic hole in the wall. The Starfleet crew and Pedra obliged and each sidled through, appearing a dark, musty room with a hallway leading away into the darkness.

"The High Priest has been highly anticipating your arrival," the figure proclaimed, in a voice that denoted no sex or species. It was an artificial sound. "Let us not keep him waiting."

The figure hurried them each into the darkness, activating a dim guiding light once they were all submerged.

"Walk," he ordered, "Any resistance is punishable with execution."

The crew chose to remain silent and to begin walking forward. Janeway had explained that she wanted a quick and diplomatic rescue of her crewmates, meaning that the team would do best to comply as much as possible, to streamline the process. Pedra had mentioned how diplomacy was not a concept much flaunted inside the Cult. Janeway's only response was that it was their best option if they wanted to get back Tom and B'Elanna unharmed. Somehow Pedra wasn't convinced, and yet, as he was walking further and further into the lion's den, his tongue was held. The captain noted to herself to keep a steady eye on the young man. If he were going to take up her offer on joining the ship, then she would need to know how he responded under high-pressure situations. He was hot-headed and stubborn, yes, but so were a lot of her crew. Another outgoing personality was hardly going to tip the boat more than it had already.

The darkness went on for what felt like miles, a sickly green light being the only notification of their connection to the physical plane. Soon, however, an echoing of voices began to become audible, further down the tunnel, chanting indefinable words to a haunting rhythm. The further they walked, the louder the chanting became until it filled their eyes and their minds. Quickly the light ahead began to grow, which soon revealed itself to be the end of the hallway. The four stepped inside and were forced to look up at their surroundings. The room was a converted cathedral, with the ceiling seemingly reaching up towards the metaphorical heavens. It was a giant room of worship, lit only by a select number of candles, and an ethereal blue ambience, the two lights clashing furiously.

Immediately the team was surrounded and lead toward the front of the cathedral, where they were forced to stand still, to the tune of a dozen pistols. Just as they began to wonder what their next directions were, a voice sounded from the elevated alcove.

"Do you like it?"

They looked up to see a spindly, dark form in deep ruby robes descending a set of stone steps. His grin flashed like a knife caught in a torch's beam.

"This used to be Cotriol's biggest and most celebrated cathedral. Now, it's ours. I find a little pleasure in the irony of it all. A religious building of such grandeur turned into the home of a secular society. It's almost poetic. Oh, yes, you're probably here for your friends. Don't worry; we haven't hurt them."

He clicked his fingers, and a door to the side of the chamber opened. Immediately two people were thrown out into the open. They stood, revealing them to be B'Elanna and Tom, dirty and tired, but alive, much to Janeway's relief.

"We've taken excellent care of them in our guest room, although I guess that they're the more glass-half-empty sort of people because they seem to call it a prison cell," the man cackled.

"It is a prison cell," Tom replied, to which he received a hit to the back of the head. Janeway had had enough of the theatrics.

"Who are you?" she commanded. "Why have you kidnapped my crew?"

"I see you're a woman who likes to get to the point," the man grumbled. "You can call me the High Leader Priest. I will be your host for this evening."

"What's the event?" Janeway said, her voice a void of enthusiasm. She routinely kept glancing back to B'Elanna and Tom, assessing their condition further, calculating how long they would need in the med bay and with therapy.

"A new beginning in our understanding of the Doctor," the High Priest announced. "You people are certainly an interesting group. You're some of the few people to ever meet the Doctor face to face, and I've gathered you all here to gather as much information as we can about your little encounter. Then kill you of course. We can't have you spreading unauthorised information, after all."

"Who said we'd tell you anything?"

"I have my ways," he said casually, his eyes fixing on Seven. His grin widened in curiosity, reminding Janeway of a cat who had just spotted a mouse. A predatory look. He began to slowly advance on her, holding out his hand to examine her. "My, oh my... You're a fascinating specimen. Borg implants, humanoid biology, exquisite features--"

"Leave her alone."

The High Leader turned to the shorter woman and smirked.

"Or what? You can't stop me. I'll have my boys fire on you as soon as you take one step out of line. And besides, as beautiful as she is, I don't swing that way. Aliens are such messy business. As for you, cow--"

"That's captain, to you," Chakotay growled. The leader sighed, gesturing to the grunt next to Chakotay. The brute whipped out a long black truncheon with a crackling blue tip and shoved it into Chakotay's back. The first officer cried out in agony as the electric current ripped through him, causing him to crumple to the ground. The others turned to their fallen friend in shock, but the guards forced them back in line. The guard removed the truncheon, allowing Chakotay respite.

"Anyone else?" the High Leader offered. The prisoners were silent; their glares spoke for them.

"Good. So, back to you, 'captain'. I haven't seen your badge before. Not from around here, are we?"

"What did you do to my first mate?" Janeway said through gritted teeth, just barely being able to contain her rage.

"Oh, him? He'll be fine. Just a small electric shock as discipline for speaking out of turn. He should fine as long as he doesn't do it again. Don't worry, I've heard it hurts more the second time."

"So this is where the Cult of the Healer has been festering for all these years, is it?" Pedra decided to chip in. "What, was your parents' basement not big enough?"

The High Leader slowly and stiffly turned towards the source of the outburst, his eyes fixing Pedra with a cold stare.

"You've got quite the nerve antagonising me, especially after that demonstration."

"Nerve or I'm very stupid. Speaking of stupid, please, continue," Pedra grinned, replying with his stare.

"I should have you shocked right now," the High Leader said, flexing his fingers. The brute beside Pedra unloaded his truncheon.

"Oh, yes please!" Pedra laughed. "Make sure it's a painful one, please sir!"

"Well, not if you're going to enjoy it," the High Leader said disdainfully. Pedra smiled cheekily to himself, securing a small victory. The High Priest sighed in irritation. "To answer your question, this is where we have been operating for the past few decades, yes."

"Where'd you get the money for the whole operation? I suppose the aristocracy is in on your little fan club after all."

"Not that they know it," the High Leader scoffed. "We have people deep within the parliament, embezzling money into our little crusade. Small contributions now and then, written off as public spending, philanthropic gestures."

"And they never realise that it's all going to the exact opposite," Pedra commented.

"We're performing a public service... of sorts."

"By kidnapping people?" Janeway challenged.

"By enlightening them!" he exclaimed. "Showing them the truth! The Doctor is a lie! He always has been! I'm protecting them from the greater evil that they don't even realise is taking a hold on the universe."

"You're protecting people from... the Doctor?" Seven spoke for the first time. The High Leader addressed her directly, looking down on her patronisingly.

"Do you think that a man that is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing, can be all-benevolent? He has friends; he can take favourites, he's not unbiased. How long do you think he'll keep up that ridiculous moniker before he finally turns to more selfish needs? Chances are he has already tried shaping the fabric of reality to suit his desires. And for what? Companionship? Admiration? Fun?"

"He's delusional, captain," B'Elanna said. The High Priest, turned on the half-Klingon menacingly.

"B'Elanna, my dear. You agreed with me."

"What are your talking about?" B'Elanna scoffed.

"We heard you in the marketplace," the High Priest explained. "My agent specifically heard you saying that you didn't trust him, that the Doctor was a con."

"I was emotional."

"You were correct! Surely, my dear, no one - not even a 'Timelord' - should have the power to manipulate destiny to the extent that he does."

"Don't listen to him, B'Elanna," Janeway said, drawing a glare from the High Leader.

"I'm not planning to," B'Elanna replied.

"Then you are all fools!" the Priest roared. "Sheep! Just like the rest of the universe! We were the only ones who realised the threat the Doctor posed to the universe! We've spent years trying to find a way to lure the Doctor to Cotriol. Years of planning used to make sure that we finally managed to end him! And six years ago, I had even thought we had succeeded."

Janeway noticed from the corner of her eye that Pedra seemed to stiffen.

"You did succeed," Pedra growled.

"Ooh, it appears we're not quite caught up, are we?" The High Priest waggled his bony finger like a cane. "I thought we'd done it; I think we nearly did."

"How do you mean 'nearly'?" Janeway asked, her intrigue peaked at a new addition to the story.

"The explosion site. We searched there after the incident, to see if we could find the remains. Call me sentimental, but I believe even the greatest blights in the universe deserves a proper burial. However, can you imagine the disappointment when we arrive and find no body?"

"No body?" Seven asked.

"No body," the Priest shook his head. "Two Hollans, cooked to a crisp, but no Timelord. We searched the rest of the port, trying to find that vessel that he came in. No ship. So, either his dead body was moved by a third party - highly unlikely since there wasn't a single another person present - or..." The Priest allowed his hypothesis to trail off, leaving the apparent conclusion hanging in the air. The Doctor must have been alive.

"Don't listen to him," Pedra snapped them out of their fantasy. "I know he's dead. I was there! I moved the body, far away from where any of you could get to him. The Doctor is dead!"

The High Priest looked at Pedra in confusion.

"That's strange," he hummed. "That's very strange."

"What?" Janeway asked.

"Out of the three people who entered that building, my friend," the High Priest said as he strode slowly toward Pedra, "You were not one of them."

Janeway turned toward their recruit, her brow furrowed in absolute confusion. Two conflicting accounts battled in her head, one from Momo, the other from the towering monster in front of them. Suddenly Pedra's place in the Doctor's life seemed more suspect than ever.

"But if you were there, as you say," the Priest continued, "Then you know where the Doctor's body is, and maybe even his ship. You will tell me where it is. We need that TARDIS."

"What for?" Pedra growled, standing as tall as he could.

"To correct his persistent meddling in the timeline. We cannot allow someone with the ability of time travel to play with fate as he sees fit."

"Never."

"Tell me!" The High Priest bellowed.

"No!" Pedra cried back. "I will never give that up. The Doctor is dead. His TARDIS is lost to you. You'll never find it, so long as I live and breathe."

"We can make you talk,' the High Priest insured, turning toward the two guards either side of Pedra.

"Yeah, well," Pedra replied, stretching his back muscles, "I can make you squeal."

Suddenly, Pedra threw his elbow back into the face on the guard in his left. Using the confusion to his advantage, he quickly swiped the firearm of the guard from his other side, circling back to enclose the High Priest in a headlock, pressing the pistol into the side of his head. The rest of the crew looked on in shock. The cult members with artillery adjusted their aim toward the rest of the Voyager personnel.

"Okay, listen up!" Pedra roared, rendering the room silent. "You're gonna let me and my friends go, right now, or I incinerate your boss' brains!"

"Don't shoot!" The High Priest squealed. "Drop your guns, you imbeciles!"

The cult members glanced at each other anxiously, before setting down their guns. Pedra sighed with relief and began to lead the High Priest toward the side of the room where Tom and B'Elanna were standing.

"Get inside!" He called to the crew, gesturing toward the side door that the missing couple had been pushed out of a few minutes ago. "Now!"

The crew hurried past the hostage, quickly opening the door and filing into the room. Pedra lead the both of them toward the door, staring down the group carefully, to keep what little control he had over the situation. As soon as he was in the doorway, he put away the gun.

"Don't follow us," he commanded, before kicking the Priest from his grasp, and closing the door. He gave one last distasteful look at the pistol in his hand before throwing it away, the pieces shattering against the wall. He quickly began pacing the room with heavy footsteps. "Alright, we've got about a minute before they break down that door."

"What the hell was that?" Janeway exclaimed. "This is exactly the kind of escalation I was trying to avoid!"

"Block the door," Pedra replied. Janeway's face twisted into a confused expression before Pedra turned toward and Tom and Seven and bellowed again, "Block the door!"

The two officers sprang toward the door, just as the first resounding pound against the wooden barrier rang throughout the small cell.

"Oh, great. Great job, rookie!" B'Elanna shouted in irritation and desperation. "Now we're stuck in here! No way out! This is it! We're going to die! And who the hell let the new guy call the shots, again?"

"Shut up," Pedra shouted back, as he continued stomping around the cell.

"Oh, seriously?" Tom exclaimed over the pounding on the door. "Captain, what do we--"

"No, seriously," Pedra called, increasing the pressure of his stomps, "Be quiet!"

"Pedra," Janeway asked, "What are you..."

The question trailed off as she listened intently to the sounds coming from Pedra's stomping feet. One foot was producing a solid thump against the hard stone tile; the other foot was creating a much different tone. A hollow sound. Janeway's eyes widened in realisation.

"Lift up that tile, quickly!" she called. Immediately Chakotay and Pedra made quick work of pulling the tile free from its place on the floor, revealing darkness beneath. An escape!

"How did--" Chakotay began to ask. He was immediately interrupted by the blonde, how held up his hand.

"Not enough time," Pedra replied, gesturing to the door that was nearly off of its hinges. "Now move, move, move!"

They carried Tom and B'Elanna down the passageway first, promptly followed by Janeway and Chakotay. Just as the resistance of the door began to fail, Tuvok and Seven slipped through the hole, with Pedra rapidly taking up the rear of the group. He had just managed to grind the tile back into place when the door burst open, and the angry group of heretics swarmed the cell. The High Priest entered with anticipation, only to growled in frustration at the room's lack of inhabitants.

"How could they have escaped?" He exclaimed. "You incompetents! What happened? We had them in the palm of our hand!" 

The High Priest stared down the followers. 

"We need to find them before they're lost to us forever. I've spent a hundred years building this society. I will not let a group of alien meddlers foil my plans! Begin searching the cathedral."

The followers glanced at each other awkwardly.

"NOW!" the taller being roared. The room sprang in life, and cloaked figures spread out into the room, scouring for a way out.

"Find them. And kill them."

 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have our heroes found their salvation? Or will the Cult of the Healer find them first? Can the Doctor and Neelix's save Harry and Voyager from the dreaded Rakweed? Find in the next exciting chapter of Time and the Delta!
> 
> So, I've been planning this encounter for a while. The longest chapter yet and for good reason. There's a lot covered in this, and we've only just gotten started. A little more intrigue into Pedra's past as well to spice things up, and the Rakweed's weakness is ripped straight from the Sarah Jane Adventures. I'm pretty proud of this chapter, but I'm even more excited about what's to come! How do you guys like Pedra so far? Or how about the Cult of the Healer? Any tips? Feel free to comment!


	8. Chapter 8

"Everything set, doctor?" Neelix asked at Harry's bedside.

"Everything is good to go," the doctor replied, heaving the speaker system onto a small table by the side of the crib. "Are you ready with the earplugs?"

"Check," Neelix affirmed, holding up his small, rubber plugs. The doctor nodded, connecting the radio circuits in just the right manner, ready for their last attempt at saving Harry.

"Okay, when I press these two wires together, the resulting sound should emulate the feedback we heard a few minutes ago. Get ready with those plugs, or you could burst your eardrums. Once I give the signal, place a pair in Harry's ears as well, but only once I give the signal. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good," the doctor said, preparing the wires. "I'll count down from three and activate the circuit. Be ready."

Neelix quickly inserted the plugs into his ears, stabilising himself for the oncoming assault.

"Right," the doctor whispered, "Here goes nothing. Three... two... one... clear!"

The wires connected, and immediately a wailing, screaming sound pierced the air like a knife's edge. Even with the earplugs dulling most of the noise, Neelix struggled not to cringe from the cacophony. It sounded like the noise they had earlier, hopefully, it would have the same effects.

This whole solution came from a sudden stroke of inspiration from the doctor, who presumed that the spores' sudden death had resulted from excessive exposure to a certain frequency of sound waves. Something to do with denaturing the hormones in the plant's cells... Neelix hadn't caught the whole science behind it. What he did catch was that they needed a way to recreate the sound, which prompted him to remember a faulty speaker system that they had removed from the mess hall a few days earlier. Lucky for them, it hadn't been dumped, and they - assisted by the few rooky engineers they could rope into their operation - quickly managed to rig the speakers up so that they would produce a feedback. Neelix had been sceptical that it would work, but due to them being out of options and out of time, he had gone along with the idea. And it was working.

A scan of Harry's body was showing that the spores, that were currently resting in his lungs and digging into his central nervous system, were dying off in staggering numbers. It was a massacre, as the numbers decreased every second, and Harry's neural activity was awakening. Soon his heart began to beat faster, his breath came easier, and, as the very last spore died unceremoniously, his eyes jerked open. The doctor gave Neelix the thumbs up, and Neelix quickly plugged Harry's ears. Relief washed over Harry's face as the noise was sealed from his ear drums, and he relaxed again, clearly exhausted from his fight against the alien spores.

The doctor reopened the circuit, and the noise promptly stopped, to the gratitude of everyone in the room. He sighed in relief.

"That was quite the long shot, even by my standards," the doctor chuckled.

"But it worked!" Neelix grinned, tending to Ensign Kim. "How are you feeling?"

"Urgh..." Harry groaned. "I don't... I feel awful… the hell happened?"

"The spores that you inhaled caused your major organs to go into shutdown," the doctor quickly explained. "We had to expose you to high frequency sound waves in order to kill them safely. You might feel a little nauseous for a while, but that'll soon pass. Until then I expect you to be on bed-rest."

"No..." Harry tried to protest, "The ship... my responsi-- oh, god!"

He reached over the side of the bed and promptly threw up. The doctor was not exactly impressed.

"Yes, well, I think that ends that debate," he concluded.

"Don't worry, Harry," Neelix said, patting the poor ensign's back. "We already have the crew working on killing the rest of the Rakweed in the mess hall. It'll be destroyed by the end of the day. Until then, we'll look after everything else. You just rest here for a bit, and we'll make sure the ship is - well - ship-shape and ready to go for when the captain comes back."

Harry groaned, rolling onto his back to keep from falling over onto the floor. The world seemed to be buzzing and rolling around him. However, he managed he managed to once again align himself with reality and ask a question he had been wondering since he went under.

"Where's... captain?" Harry slurred.

"She's... well, I'm not sure where she is," Neelix replied, "We've tried her communicator and she's not responding, we think she's somewhere without any signal. But rest assured, she told me that she and the others will be back by morning."

* * *

Back in the prison cell of the church, a lone robed entity was walking in circles around the small, stone room, studying it's every corner for something. It found what it was looking for behind the cell's heavy wooden door: several pieces of a broke new pistol, and - disguised amongst the debris - a small box with a monochromatic display. The robed supporter picked it up and turned it on via the dial at the side. The box came to life, revealing a map, with several winding paths, like a spider's web. Along one of these paths, a single dot was travelling slowly at its own accord. It was marked, "Communicator_Seven". A small grin appeared from under the hood of the cultist, and they left the room. Arriving in the main chamber of the church, they quickly ran over to the High Priest, presenting him with the device. His weathered face twisted into a smile.

"So, your conspirator has led them into the trap," he said with a glow of satisfaction.

"Yes, High Priest," the robed one replied. "He is leading them into the designated area. He has left this for us to follow them."

"Indeed he has," the High Priest grinned, chuckling slightly. “But the problem remains, how did they get out?”

“I can answer that as well,” the robed member explained. She led him toward the centre of the musty cell, tapping her feet on the floor. Soon, a hollow sound resonated from the floor tiles, and the High Priest’s eyes gleamed. He clicked his fingers and two grunts appeared by his side. He gestured to the floor tiles, and the grunts made short work of lifting it and hauling it away, revealing a secret passage.

“Well, what are you all waiting for? Get after them!” the High Priest ordered.

A flurry of robes and shouts of crazed excitement and the overwhelming group of cultists disappeared down the passage. The High Priest turned toward the small, robed individual who had found the tile, a hint of familiarity in his murderous smile.

"You have done well.”

The head of the robed one bowed in reverence.

“Thank you, High Priest,” they said, their weathered voice barely above a whisper.

The High Priest nodded, took the device from the shorter cultist’s hands and followed the crowd into the tunnels. The robed one hesitated for a moment, sending a glare down into the passageway, before begrudgingly climbing down. How they desired to take their revenge now, where no one would see them, but no. They had to wait for the plan to reach its fruition. They had to trust that Pedra knew what he was doing.

* * *

A few hours later, it was a tired and dishevelled captain – currently supporting the disorientated form of her first officer - that broke the silence of the convoy.

"I don't think we're going to back by morning," Janeway observed cynically.

She may have been right. Mile after mile, turn after turn, they still hadn't reached the end of the labyrinthine tunnels. Each step she took felt like she was walking on a stone road that had not been smoothed in centuries; every movement risked slipping her foot into a hole she could barely see; every glance up to see where she was going risked her colliding into another Cobweb. This, coupled with the constant paranoia of the cult being just behind them every time she heard but a squeaking sound behind her, meant that this hike was soon becoming one of Kathryn’s more despised adventures. The Starfleet captain realised that Pedra must have been serious when he said that these tunnels stretched across the planet; if her internal compass did not deceive her, the group had been on a journey that had covered possibly tens of miles. It could have been an illusion of the darkness, but she could have sworn that even the air tasted differently from where they entered; it was the type of difference one would find when moving from day to night, one street to the next, as if the flavours and ambience of the atmosphere had shifted somehow. She sighed, realised that, no, it was just air; the same musty, damp, choking air that she had been swallowing for hours. They could be anywhere in Cotriol, any building, any town, any state, any province. It was lucky then that they had the remote tracker to assure the authorities that they were still moving; still alive.

"Just hold still a second, Seven," she could hear Pedra say quietly, followed by the rustling of wires and mechanical parts.

"I am staying as still as possible," Seven assured him, a hint of irritation in her tone.

"If you say so," Pedra quipped. He routinely poked and prodded the communication badge on Seven's chest, checking for a response. Every so often, a series of light would activate, evidence of the tracking signal being relayed. “Okay, it’s still working. The tunnels haven’t made it lose connection. Good, we can continue.”

“Pedra,” Janeway called. The man turned slightly, but Janeway could tell he was still itching to leave. “Can we rest for just a few minutes? We’ve been walking for miles, surely we can afford a break?”

Pedra considered it for a moment, before sighing and relaxing his stance.

“You’re right,” he concluded. “I’m sorry, captain. I forget how easily your kind tires. I can’t say we can afford to stop completely, but I think we can slow down a little.”

“Where are we going anyway?” B’Elanna groaned. She and Tom had been supporting each other on the treacherous journey.

"Somewhere," Pedra replied cryptically. He turned and carried on walking down the path, albeit much slower than before.

"That wasn't an answer!" B'Elanna shouted.

"I know!" came the reply. B'Elanna bristled angrily.

"Where'd you find this guy?" she whispered moodily to Janeway.

"Do you want the full story or the condensed edition?" Janeway replied as she began to walk again, this time allowing Chakotay to walk by himself.

"Well, we have time for both, so let's go with the full story," B'Elanna replied. And so Janeway began, explaining that they were looking for information when they stumbled upon Lulu and Pedra; how, once he revealed that Lulu's grandmother Momo knew about the Hollan immigration, they were lead back to his home; how - after they were settled in - they tried to locate everyone, only to find that the couple - who were currently listening - had been captured, leading them to create a plan to rescue them. Once the story was wrapped up, Tom seemed to be satisfied. B'Elanna wasn't.

"I still can't believe you trusted him," she remarked.

"Seven was hesitant too," Janeway amended. "I made the call. Though I never suspected it'd lead to this."

"Do we ever see it coming?" Chakotay chuckled. Janeway let a laugh escape her lips.

"I suppose we should expect it by now," she reflected. "Still, at least it's not a boring life, eh crew?"

"Aye, captain," the crew replied simultaneously, although the fighting spirit seemed to have dwindled a little.

Janeway looked at them all. Four humans. One ex-Borg. One half-Klingon. A hologram. A Vulcan. A ragtag crew if she had ever seen one. The best crew she had ever had. She wondered about having Pedra on board as well. He seemed technically capable, not bad in a fight, responsible, confident. Plus, Seven seemed already somewhat attached to him. Convincing the rest of the crew might need time, but they'd have plenty of it on the rest of their journey home. Momo's offer was becoming more and more enticing...

Janeway grabbed her communicator badge off of her chest and tried fiddling with it, trying in vain to retrieve any kind of signal. Once again, it read nothing. She sighed in irritation.

"Still nothing?" Chakotay asked.

"Nothing," Janeway replied. She felt her spirits decrease once again. "It's like the tunnels are blocking my--"

Then she stopped. Something had just occurred to her. She looked up at Seven's communicator badge. It was still working. It used the exact same way of communication as her's - radio waves - and yet Seven's badge had no problem picking up a signal. Janeway looked up. Stone covered the ceiling above her. It was the same with Seven. She couldn't feasibly be tracked if the receiving device was above the tunnels, as Janeway presumed the police would be based. Seven's badge couldn't be communicating with anything above the surface. The only thing that could track Seven would be something based within the tunnels. The tunnels that only the Cult supposedly knew about. So what signal was it receiving?

"Pedra?" Janeway called. Pedra turned. She held up her badge. "I'm getting no signal. And neither should you."

Pedra seemed to stiffen.

"Yes... well--"

"Pedra," Janeway almost growled, "What's really tracking Seven?"

Before he could answer, a slow rumble began to reverberate through the tunnels, the thundering of a hundred footsteps on stone. Pedra's eyes widened.

"We have to get moving," he said and turned to carry on walking. The sound of a phaser pistol cocking halted his progress.

"You sold us out to the Cult, didn't you?" Janeway glared at him, pistol raised. The group began to edge away from the man, leaving him standing alone in the tunnel. Pedra hesitantly swivelled, coming to face the group, his eyes locking with Janeway's. He seemed to possess no fear, but intense impatience.

"This isn't what it looks likes," Pedra tried to explain. Janeway was having none of it.

"You lied to us!" she nearly shouted. "We trusted you, and you lied to us!"

"Yes, I did," Pedra replied, a little too calm than Janeway would like. "I lied to you, more than once, but not for the reason you think."

"Tell me why we shouldn't leave you stunned in these tunnels to rot!"

"Because I'm the only one who knows the way out," Pedra retorted.

"We can find our own way out," Janeway tried to propose, but under Pedra's scrutinising stare her lie fell apart.

"You have no choice but to trust me," Pedra pointed out. The glares directed his way seemed to momentarily falter, replaced with deep contemplation. The rumble of a hundred feet began to grow louder and louder. Desperate, and beginning to feel cornered, Janeway was tempted to let Pedra lead them into whatever trap the Cult had prepared for them. "Listen to me, I know you have no reason to place your trust in me, but you have to. There are two things I can absolutely promise you are true: I despise the cult, I want them gone forever, and I know what I'm doing."

Janeway scrutinised the man standing in front of them, trying to find any hint of a lie in his face. She wanted to hate him, to disregard him and take their chances in the tunnels, but he was right. They wouldn't make half a mile before they were lost forever. Going with him could take them to freedom or straight into the clutches of maniacs. It reminded her of a horror story she once heard, of a diver who was swimming through an underwater cave. The diver had swum deep into the cave and their tank had lost so much air that they could no longer make it safely back to the cave's entrance. The only options they had were to turn back and risk losing air long before they reached safety, or to carry on swimming and hope against hope that the cave had another exit. Ever since hearing that story, she would often wish that she would never have to make that choice. Now, here she was.

Do they turn back and spend the rest of their lives lost in the labyrinth? Or do they follow a man they couldn't trust to a safety that may not even exist?

Certain death or possible salvation?

The choice came logically, but hesitantly.

She lowered her phaser.

"Lead the way Pedra."

The man sighed in relief.

"Thank you," he said. Any elation quickly dissipated as the group registered the rumbling that was growing ever nearer. "We need to be quick. This way!"

The group began to pick up their pace, accelerating to a frantic jog as each turn and straight became pivotal. Pedra didn't slow down, constantly working out the route and he strode across the stones. Despite their best attempts to go as fast as they could, the foreboding sound of a stampeding crowd seemed to follow them, barely a step behind them. Turn after turn after turn, and they were still running, echoing Pedra's path hypnotically. Still, the rumbling wall of sound grew ever nearer. Soon they were able to pick up a spattering of voices, saying nothing reassuring. Just a few shouts of, "Find them!" and, "Kill them!" What a way to go, Janeway thought, stuck in a maze of dust and stone, murdered by fanatics of a man they had met only once before. They had barely spent ten minutes in the presence of the traveller, and they had been paying for it ever since.

Eventually, Pedra seemed to slow, looking around for a moment and deeming the end of the path correct. Janeway looked up and saw a dead end. Her eyes widened as it all came crashing down. It seemed that Pedra had sold them out after all. She was about to scream to rage at the man before he stopped her.

"Get away from the grate!" he called, pulling them away from the metal bars covering a never-ending chasm. She looked up and saw another grate above her, leading to the street above. The moonlight shone between the bars. They were tantalisingly close to freedom, and yet more trapped than they had been deep in the tunnels. Janeway looked up at the man, desperately searching for an answer.

"Please tell me you have a plan to get us out of here, Pedra," she gasped, holding up Chakotay's sagging form.

Pedra was about to answer when the overwhelming ravings of the cult suddenly seemed to turn the last corner. Pedra pulled them into the corner, behind his body.

"Behind me. Now!" he bellowed. Chakotay and Seven raised their phasers preemptively, sensing that conflict was their only option left.

Just as the thunderous footsteps had foretold, the several scrambling members of the Cult rounded the corner into sight, their eyes glinting dangerously in the darkness. Janeway held onto Chakotay a little bit tighter. The crowd parted and the High Leader Priest step forward. He was holding a blaster pistol in his hand. His eyes narrowed in intense satisfaction. He had caught his prey.

He chuckled.

"Nowhere to run," the High Priest grinned, pointing his phaser towards the group, setting it to a lethal round. "Nowhere to hide."

"Please, don't!" Pedra begged. He shifted his body, trying to cover as many of the group as he could. They were outnumbered and outgunned. No more tunnels to run into. No chance of escape. "Please, let us go. We'll never trouble you again, we'll leave, and you go about your business in secret."

"A tempting offer," the High Priest pondered, "But, honestly, I think I'd rather kill the lot of you."

"But we surrender! This is a surrender!"

"I'm sorry," the tall, dark alien sighed, aiming his rifle. He flicked off the safety, aiming the barrel for Pedra's head. "I may be holy, but I'm no saint."

Pedra closed his eyes, turning around to shield the crew with his spine.

The phaser rifle fired, and the blast made contact.

"Now!" a voice came from above them. Suddenly, the grate opened up and sent the cultists tumbling into the darkness. A sound of chains filled the enclosed space as four sides of a cage fell into place so that when the cultists were finally holstered up on a wooden platform, it formed a perfect sealed enclosure. They were trapped. A chain pulled them up to the surface, onto street-level, into the moonlight, where a dozen armed officers were waiting, guns aimed.

Pedra opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up, noticing that he was practically hugging Seven, and stood up straight, regaining his composure. He swivelled to where the High Priest was scrabbling around on the floor of his new home.

"Nor a marksman, apparently," Pedra grinned, as he turned to face the singed bricks behind him. He laughed and looked around, back towards the one last robed individual that hadn't been trapped in the cage. A small, stout individual.

"I think that went perfectly, don't you agree?" he asked. The individual shook their head and threw off their hood, revealing the smiling face of Momo.

"You were all cutting it rather fine, I must say," Momo said. She held up a small box with a monochromatic display. "You have no idea how many times I had to send them the wrong way. Not to mention hiding this thing. Couldn't you have found a better hiding place for it?"

"I was rushed for time," Pedra grinned. The crew were silent and extremely confused.

"So... what happened? You... huh?" Tom asked, bewildered and tired from all the running.

"Yes, I tricked you, to trick them," Pedra explained, his grin widening at their befuddlement. "I lied to you. Seven's communicator wasn't being tracked by the police, the signal couldn't penetrate the stone, but it could transmit a signal to something already connected to the tunnels, say something like a remote tracking device..."

Momo waved the device for emphasis.

"He left this as you escaped," she explained. "It's connected to Seven's badge, and it gave us your location at all times."

"So you did tell the Cult where we were!" B'Elanna exclaimed. "You betrayed us!"

"Nope," Pedra noted. "Well, not entirely - it's the intention that counts. I let the Cult track us through the tunnels because I wanted to lead them to this exact spot. I was using you to lead them into a trap that they couldn't resist."

"That's why you kept us on the move," Janeway realised.

"I couldn't know how far behind they were," Pedra nodded. "We needed to get here before they caught us or the trap wouldn't work."

"Were you ever planning on telling us this?" Chakotay asked. "Or were you just going to keep that little nugget away from our attention?"

"I needed your fear to be authentic," Pedra explained. "Forgive me, but I wasn't exactly sure of your acting abilities. If the Cult sensed that our escape wasn't real, then they would hesitate to follow."

"How did you know the way out, though?" Janeway asked. "I thought only the Cult knew their way through the tunnels."

"They do," Pedra affirmed. He then gestured towards Momo. "It's a good thing I had a member on the inside to tell me the directions."

Janeway was seemingly lost for words.

"You... you did all this... to use us as bait?" she asked.

"No, not bait... unknowing collaborators, more like," he grinned. “I must say, you guys appeared at exactly the right time, though. I couldn't miss the opportunity. Besides, at least we had fun, right?”

Janeway couldn't help it. She chuckled. Then she laughed. Then she bellowed. The certainty of death, followed by an overwhelming relief had sent her into a high.

"You... you tricksy bastard," she managed to get out through her heaving.

Soon the rest of the crew was joining in on her elation. Even B'Elanna raised her eyebrows in appreciation of his plan.

Pedra smiled. Momo grinned. The High Priest growled.

"You think this will stop me for long?" he snarled. "I have friends! Friends in high places! They'll vouch for me! This cult isn't an institution, it's an idea! As long one person realises the truth about the Doctor then--"

"Silence the prisoner," one of the guards ordered. A tall, black-clad officer reach onto his belt and plunged a taser into the High Priest's side. The slender once-leader crumbled in shock, cringing at the pain in his side.

Chakotay couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Don't worry," he called over, "I've heard it hurts more the second time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Cult of the Healer has finally been defeated! The Rakweed is dead, and Harry is back (although a little woozy)! Will this secure a place for Pedra on Voyager? Tune in next time for more shenanigans from our favourite space-faring crew!


	9. Chapter 9

"Captain, I'm sorry, I should've taken more precautions, I messed up--"

"Harry, look it's--"

"I mean this is probably the worst first go at being captain anyone's ever had--"

"Harry," Janeway interrupted the Ensign's transmission. "It's all fixed, that's what matters. If Neelix couldn't find anything dangerous about that plant, then how on Earth were you supposed to?"

"But still--"

"Harry, worse things have happened on better captains' watch."

That seemed to satisfy the Ensign on the other side of the line. Ever since they had reestablished radio contact with Voyager, they had been met with a grief-stricken Harry apologising profusely for some 'Rakweed' incident. Janeway smiled as she noted to herself that, had he never told her, they would probably never would have known. According to Neelix, the mess hall was as Rakweed-free as it ever was, apart from a few rotten fruit that still contained some dead spores on them. A lot of the food would have to be replaced, of course, in order to make sure no straggling spores were left behind.

"I guess you have a point, Captain," Harry conceded hesitantly. Janeway smiled.

"Good," she replied, "Then if you don't mind, Captain, there's some paperwork I need to fill out here at the police station."

"Should we expect you back tonight?"

"I'd say so, but let's not be too optimistic. The police want us to submit proper testimonies. We'll be back before tomorrow, I'm sure. Until then, try not to get any more Rakweed infestations."

She closed the transmission after a sign-off and got back to the form in her hand. It was lucky that Janeway was very much used to writing extensively about the crew's adventures. Otherwise, this would have been more of a chore than she could have coped with. She was tired, she was irritable, but still, the relief of knowing that all of her crew were safe and sound once again, and that they had managed to make a real difference in stopping a local threat, was enough to curb any negative feelings that were threatening to ruin her evening.

"How's Captain Kim getting on?" she heard Chakotay ask from beside her. She smiled, and felt herself relax a little more.

"I think he's getting along just fine without us," she answered.

"I heard he was a little shaken up by some - what was it? - 'Rakweed' spores? Sounds like some tough stuff."

"Yes, well, as I suspected, Harry's tougher. Apart from that, I think his first go-around as Captain was a success."

"To be fair, he didn't get into any more trouble than what usually happens around Voyager."

"That is true. You did have a point, that we should probably expect it by now."

"But that's no fun, and not exactly optimistic in any case. Besides, who could expect a Scot in a blue box leading us to a cult of raving lunatics?"

"And the only human in the Delta Quadrant."

"Precisely," Chakotay grinned. Janeway had to stifle a chuckle, resorting to an adoring smile.

"Actually, speaking of which," Janeway suddenly remembered, "Where is Pedra?"

"Over there," Chakotay pointed, "Talking to Seven."

"Indeed he is..."

Pedra and Seven were standing in the corner of the room, away from the more crowded areas of the lounge. The were whispering to each other, good-heartedly it seemed, and they were close, much closer than Seven usually allowed others. Janeway narrowed her eyes slightly, and Chakotay noticed. He leaned closer, impersonating a cartoon spy.

"They seem to be hitting it off," he observed, glancing toward Janeway.

"Yes..." she replied nonchalantly. This only seemed to fuel Chakotay's amusement.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen Seven 'hit it off' with someone before," he pondered deliberately. "What do you think it could mean?"

"It means I should keep an eye on them."

"Only for scientific purposes, of course," Chakotay chuckled. Janeway turned to him questioningly.

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said, holding his palms up. Janeway eyed him sceptically. "Okay, you got me. I think you're worried about Seven."

Janeway blinked.

"Well, of course. I am her captain, after all. Every crew member is my responsibility."

"Not like that, Katherine," Chakotay scoffed. "I think you've grown attached to her."

"A lot of time spent with someone will do that," Janeway brushed the assertion off. Chakotay wasn't about to let it go, however.

"I mean in more than a Captain-Crew way," Chakotay explained. "Tell me that looking at them now doesn't make you the least bit worried."

Janeway glanced over the where the two were standing, only to find Seven standing alone. She felt something inside her relax somewhat, as if some great pit of irritation had just dissipated. Her face dropped in realisation. She looked over to Chakotay, who was wearing a smug smile.

"I think you may have a point," the concession ground out. Chakotay sat back in his chair, his hands resting behind his head, victory in his posture. Janeway shook her head in dismissal, glancing back to Seven standing alone. The ex-Borg drone caused her many instances of irritation, anxiety and humour in equal fold. She looked at her living leap of faith, the impossible entity; a little girl forced into the body of a woman, with machinery filling the gaps. Throughout her time on Voyager, Janeway was her guardian, and her guide. Janeway had thought about motherhood only a handful of times in her career, wanting to get her Starfleet credentials before settling down with a child of her own. Now however, with her husband having decided that the wait was too long, it seemed that the dream of parenthood was a far cry. Chakotay's theory had grounds in reality. Her desire for what she had been denied in the Delta Quadrant had lead to her to projecting those ideas on looking after Seven. However, it wasn't underserved. Of all the crew that had helped Seven establish her independence and identity as an individual, she had been the one who had done most of the heavy lifting. She was the one who granted a godly amount of patience to her objections, tolerated her musings and complaints, managed her requirements, defended her against diplomatic scrutiny. Janeway felt that, at this point, she had earned the right to be worried about her, to care about her.

There she was. No longer unsure and nervous, no longer the not-Borg not-Human member of the crew - and an outsider to both - but rather Seven of Nine, astrometrics scientist, and valuable member of the crew. Janeway should be pleased that she was finally making friends, or whatever was happening with Pedra. Maybe it was just friendly chat, maybe it was something more. Maybe Janeway's mind would be more at rest about these sort of things once she remembered that Seven could probably break every bone in his body, however morbid the comfort she enjoyed. If there was one thing she would change about Seven, though, it'd be the outfit. God, what was the doctor thinking? Skin tight? Full bodied? High heels? If she didn't know any better, Janeway would suspect that the doctor had some kind of ulterior motive with his choice of clothing for Seven. Once Janeway got back to Voyager, she was going to pull out a spare science uniform and make Seven wear that instead, and no amount of Seven protesting was going to make her decided otherwise. 'Efficient' or no, that outfit simply wasn't going to fly anymore.

"What are you thinking about?" Chakotay asked, bringing Janeway out of her thoughts.

"Do we still have those spare clothes?" she questioned. "You know, the ones for cadets? Those light blue ones?"

"I think so... you mean those civilian suits that we keep on standby?"

"Indeed," she clarified. "Do you think any of them would fit Seven?"

"Possibly," Chakotay pondered. "You thinking of changing Seven's wardrobe?"

"Of course I am," Janeway replied.

"She's not going to like that," Chakotay chuckled.

"We'll see, Chakotay. I bet you as soon as she's tried on proper clothing she'll wonder why on Earth she put up with a jumpsuit for so long."

"You know she can wear whatever she likes," Chakotay pointed out. "If she truly wanted to wear something different, she would do so."

"She probably doesn't know other clothes exist outside of Starfleet uniform," Janeway argued. "She's been hard-wired to never experiment outside of what has been ordered of her - we have to actively make her try new food, for instance. It's no surprise she never questioned the catsuits; she probably hasn't given it a second thought."

"I see where you're coming from, I do," Chakotay hastily conceded, "I hate seeing crew members practically drooling every time she passes by, but we can't force her to conform to our standards simply because it makes us uncomfortable. Besides, I know people like Tuvok will take grievance if we give her a Starfleet uniform, considering she isn't technically Starfleet."

"Well, if she prefers her present outfit, then I won't press the issue, I'll respect her independence. However, I’m sure that if we let her try on something a little more substantial than cling film then she'll be very grateful for it," Janeway argued. "And I'm not saying we dress her up in uniform and induct her into a rank - quite frankly it's easier that she remain outside the rank system altogether. I mean just look at her now and tell me she wouldn't look much more presentable in a training suit."

"A little easier said than done at the moment," Chakotay quipped.

Janeway, confused, looked up. She scanned the room.

"Where is she?" she asked, finding no trace of Seven anywhere.

Chakotay glanced around the crowded room. Seven had well and truly disappeared. She was nowhere in sight, from whichever angle he turned she eluded his vision. Strange, considering she was there not a few second before. He sighed and Janeway began to stand. He placed a warm but firm hand on her arm, halting her momentarily.

"I'm sure she's fine, Katherine," he whispered. She hesitantly returned to her seat, sitting up straighter than before. "She's safe here. The cult is behind bars, and if she needs help there's a whole station filled with officers to help her. How much trouble could she possibly be in right now?"

"Knowing our luck?" Janeway replied darkly. "Probably a heap."

*****

The High Priest, once the ruler of an underground empire, sat on his new throne: a cell bench. It was a small and confined cell, with little illumination beside the soft moonlight filtering through the barred window. He was used to darkness, it made him feel almost at home, reminding him of his years of hiding and planning from the shadows. It was a small comfort in what he knew was coming. He was responsible for thousands of deaths over the years, attacks, fear mongering, conspiracy, embezzlement. Either he'd be in that cell for a long time yet, or he'd be dead soon enough. He hadn't thought about what would happen if he were found, he never thought it could happen. And yet it did happen, at the hands of a man who knew him well, appearing with a face the High Priest had never seen before. The man was a mystery to the once leader, a loose end from a string that didn't quite connect. He remembered the man's friends however, two young adult Hollans, fresh-faced and adventurous. In fact he remembered all of his victims, all 1057 of them. It was a genetic advantage that his species could remember faces better than most, that and he made note of each person over the years, so that each was given reverence when the time came to bury the Doctor.

The High Priest's obsession with the time traveller had begun long ago, so long that the life he had led before had all but faded away. He wasn't even sure he could remember his given name, he didn't think he deserved it anymore. He knew his parents would never have been proud of his chosen path, so he simply invented himself a name. In truth it was a hollow existence, one that was fuelled by revenge for man - a myth - that he would chase all of his life. And that road had lead him here.

The door to his room opened. He had company.

He felt the man's presence before he saw him step out of the shadows of the visiting area. It was the man who had foiled his operation, the man who had to lead them through the tunnels into the trap. He was armed, fingering a pistol by his side.

The High Priest looked up and smiled.

"I should have known you'd be here eventually."

The man didn't answer immediately, he simply stood there, unmoving and stone-faced. His face was devoid of anything emotive. That is, except his eyes. They looked down on the Priest like burning cinders, charged with hellfire that had passed through.

"You know why I'm here," the man said. The High Priest nodded.

"Yes, I do," he grinned in a defeated manner. "You've come as my executioner. Well, since you have the honour to be my judge and jury this day, would you not hear my testimony?"

"What's there to hear?" the man growled. The High Priest tutted absently.

"Well, nothing much. Just my life story, my reason to be, hardly interesting."

The man stepped forward, studying the High Priest for deception.

"What do you gain from this? You know you can't change my mind."

"No, no, I know that for certain," the High Priest sighed. "But would you deny an old man confession after a life of sin?"

The man paused. His hand brushed the side of pistol, itching to release it. His tired, endless eyes narrowed in a calculated manner. The man exhaled. He removed his hand from the weapon at his side and leaned against the bars of the cell.

"Entertain me," he beckoned with a limp wave of his wrist.

The High Priest's brow raised in slight surprise, before settling down again. He leaned back onto the wall of his cell, getting comfortable. He reckoned he'd be there a while.

"I was a boy," the High Priest began, "Just a boy. It was a special day, but what day specifically I can no longer remember. Everyone I knew was there that day; friends, family, loved ones. Then the sky turned red, fire swallowed my world, my whole species died around me. It happened so fast, it was like an act of deity. It was as if judgement day had finally come for me, and for everything I held dear. And then there was the Doctor, the saviour of worlds, the oncoming storm, standing at the door of his TARDIS; pinstriped suit, white shoes, the whole get-up. He'd come to save the day. Or so I thought. Except, he looked at me, stared at me. I could see the light from inside, I could see salvation clear as day. He looked straight into my eyes, the eyes of small boy, on a dying planet, begging for his parents to wake up. He saw me. He walked away, and he never came back. All because my species was doomed to die. Because my world's death was a 'fixed event'! There were too many people to save, not enough leeway in the space-time continuum or some rubbish. But the Hollans? They get to live! They get to see another dawn because he decided to be merciful for once.

"Was it because of a smile? Was it a good day? Or was just he feeling generous? Sometimes he breaks the rules, because he's 'the Doctor' and that's what he does. But sometimes he's bound by them, he hides behind them, and he runs and cries about how he couldn't save us! Oh, why could he save not a single soul? You see? He's not a hero, he's a hedonist! He saves people when he wants, when it means something to him, when his friends want him to, and other times? Nothing to be done! No point in crying over spilt milk, I suppose? Sometimes, when it suits him, he gives a damn!"

The High Priest's bellow echoed off of the walls of the room. The lightest hint of flinch could be seen in the man's features, but the Priest knew it wasn't because of his shouting. This was hitting something deep within him. The High Priest reeled in his temper, slumping against the cold wall of his prison.

"I wanted that TARDIS because there are so many that he missed, so many he left to die because he couldn't be bothered! I could've helped them. I could've had the powers of a god, the ability to be anywhere, anywhen, to save whoever needed saving. That's the great lie about the Doctor, because the man who is omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, has no excuse. If there's a single child left hungry, alone, desperate, then it's his fault."

"I agree." The man's voice cut through the silence like a bolt of lightning. The High Priest glanced up at the first rue surprise of the evening. "The Doctor makes mistakes, he's bound by rules that he's broken, and he does take favourites. But that gives you no excuse for your crimes."

The High Priest could sense that his time was coming to a close, as the man stood up straight and removed the pistol from his belt.

"But you understand?" The High Priest asked. The man began priming the gun, but continued to speak.

"Understand, yes... but never condone."

A small click was heard as he finished loading the pistol.

"You killed my friends. You made an orphan of their child. You saw that action as justified. If that's the lesson you took from all these years then you're no wiser than that little boy. Take away all that hatred, all that spite, and you have nothing. Nothing left to call a soul."

The High Priest guffawed loudly, angrily almost.

"And you? What do you have?"

The man looked the High Priest dead in the eyes, a shadow of grief fell over his countenance.

"Not much more than you. And I don't think I'll even have that after this."

He raised the pistol, aiming it straight at the High Priest's head. His eyes darkened with all the years of eternity.

"Who are you?" The High Priest asked. The man's face refused to change, refused to give him any clue. "Come on, just tell me. It's the end for me now. You'll be sending your secret to the grave with me."

"You know who I am," the man said. "I was there. Don't you recognise me? Am I alien to you, all because of a face?"

And it all fell into place. The High Priest's eyes widened. It was the eyes that had finally tipped him off. He had seen those eyes only once before.

"Oh... now I recognise you," the High Priest grinned. Something deep within him was finally sated. "I know exactly who you are. I see it, in you eyes. The pain, the loneliness... and the rage. That rage, the fire that toppled empires. Tell me, did it hurt? Dragging that body out of the flames? Losing everything that mattered to you so quickly? Finding yourself alone once again? Now you know that little boy. Pull the trigger. Vindicate me."

The High Priest closed his eyes. He heard the pistol begin to charge up, and he relaxed. His long journey had finally come to an end, he could tell. So many long years of searching, of scavenging, of ruling, they had been worth it after all. All because once again he was faced with--

"Pedra."

A new voice entered the fray. A female voice, firm but soothing. The man turned around to reveal the Borg drone from earlier. The beauty stood but a few feet from him, her eyes wide but steady.

"Seven?" the man asked.

"You must stop this," she said. The man sighed.

"Seven--"

"No," she interrupted before his excuse could gains steam. "You cannot argue. Put down the weapon."

"You here to save him? You think this man deserves mercy?" the man scoffed, opting to High Priest inside the cell.

"It is not him I'm here to save," the woman explained. She carefully began to step closer to him.

"What?"

"You told me that the strength of humans is their emotions, that it was their ability to not let their grief beat them... or control them. Pedra, was that a lie?"

Pedra? Was that the name he had chosen? Was that the lie he was living by nowadays?

"Aww, is that so?" The High Priest chimed in cynically. "Did you promise her of that, _Pedra_? Did you swear to her, _Pedra_? On your _word_? By your _namesake_? On your life? Is that your prom--"

"Be quiet," whatever comfort that had resided in her voice when talking to Pedra died when she turned to him. Reluctantly, the High Priest fell silent. Seven turned back to the man in front of her. "Pedra, this is not you, it is your grief. You cannot let it control you, just as you said."

"Seven, I know, I know what you're saying but..." he paused, his voice beginning to break. "He took everything from me."

"Not everything," she stepped closer yet, her voice merely a whisper. "Not yet. But if you do this, if you kill him in anger then he will have. You have a family, a young child who cares about you. You have friends, including me. You are not alone."

Pedra looked down, his grip on the pistol loosening ever so slightly.

"I don't know how I can go on, Seven," his voice was hoarse. "I don't know if I want to."

"You can. I want to try and help you, just as you have tried to help me. Maybe we can overcome our emotions, together."

Pedra looked up. Her baby blue eyes were staring at him with an intensity that pierced him like a needle. His resistance started to crumble. He felt her hand reached for his and slowly take the pistol away from him.

"Drop the weapon," she whispered. "I will tell none of the crew what happened. We can leave now."

He faltered, his eyes glistening, but slowly he let go of the pistol, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. He grabbed her into a desperate hug, dissolving into tears. She reciprocated, unsure of what else to do. She was glad that he soon regained his composure.

"Thank you," he croaked. He smile weakly. She found herself nodding in response.

"My pleasure."

He stood up straight, took in a deep breath and separated himself from her.

"Let's go."

She picked up the pistol lying on the floor, switching it from 'kill' to 'stun', just in case. She stood, only to hear a round of solitary, cynical applause from within the cell.

"Very well done. It seems you have some strength in you after all."

Pedra stiffened, ready to turn around and deliver one final response. Seven saved him the effort. Swivelling round, she aimed the pistol and fire a stunning round straight into his head. The High Priest lay still, but alive.

"Seven!" Pedra gasped, slightly scandalised. The woman shrugged.

"The guards will not notice. Come, let us leave."

She strode past him and out of the room, leaving the quiet cell in peace. Pedra stared after her, a slight smile adorning his lips. He spared one last glance at the still body of the once-feared High Priest, turned and closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to take this chapter to dive more into what kind of things we'll be seeing in each of the characters, especially Pedra. Pedra is not a perfect character in this, he has flaws just like anyone else, but this story will deal with him healing and becoming the person he wants to be, not only through Seven but through Voyager as a whole. I've tried not to make Pedra a Mary-Sue character, and this is one step I've taken to do that. He's not going to always make the right choices, and he needs someone there to stop him. But Pedra is also keeping a big secret from the crew. The High Priest figured it out in this chapter, but for now, no one else knows Pedra's secret. If you have, or if you're from the future and know who he is because I revealed it, I implore you not to tell anyone but do message me if you have theories or questions. I want this intriguing plot to be a big part of Pedra's character as we move forward, so your theorising would be a real joy for me. 
> 
> Anyway, I see this story is getting closer to 1000 hits and I just want to say thank you to everyone for giving this story such as a warm welcome. I hope to post more on a sort of monthly basis, so look forward to more. Thanks, guys!


	10. Chapter 10

Today was set to be Voyager's final day in Port Cotriol - if all things went to plan, that was, Janeway didn't want to jinx it for fear of unearthing another conspiracy or invoking the wrath of another secret society bent on keeping them there. Despite the rough time that the port had given them, Janeway had come to almost like the place. It was quirky, for sure, and a bit crowded for her tastes, but it was full of character. Such a shame then that some of that wasn't exactly amicable. Besides, Janeway could tell that the place hadn't endeared itself to the rest of the crew. Even the team that had stayed on board had had a stressful time, now coming to almost see the port as bad luck. Well, after a killer cult, an infestation of deadly weed and a comatose captain - all in the space of 24 hours - it was easy to see how their venture to the planet had turned out to be less than ideal.

Even a couple of days later, after typing out their exploits into her Log, Janeway seemed detached from the whole ordeal, as if it were a horrible dream. She had been through the surreal many a time on Voyager, that was for sure, but encounters this rarely connected. It was like the most outlandish days always ended, never following them too far. This, however, was different in some way, like another chapter of a sage set off by a single moment. One chance meeting. The fact that this never-ending tangent was because of the Doctor didn't allude Janeway; his influence seemed everywhere in this adventure. Even indirectly, the Doctor's presence lingered over them, as if this were but a product of his interference. All of this, a wild goose chase and brush with death every other day, from a single encounter with the man. Just a tiny scratch upon the surface of his world had sent theirs in chaos. If anything, it seemed to strengthen her theories about the man, especially how the High Priest described him.

She shook those thoughts aside, refusing to give the madman any more time in her consciousness. No, the fate of that man was none of her concern, nor the responsibility of Voyager's crew. He was finally irrelevant. How very satisfying.

"We have the gift ready," the voice of Chakotay sounded from her doorway. Janeway glanced up, noting the small box in his hand, containing what she knew to be an assortment of treasures providing by the gracious crew. It was her idea, and of course, everyone had been all too happy to contribute, especially after they found out who the recipient was to be.

Kathryn had had a sudden and all too demanding urge to speak with some certain locals again, just one last time, before they departed from the port forever. An urge that lead her to make a gift box. An urge that delayed their departure from Cotriol to later that afternoon. An urge that had led her back to Momo's house, back to the dusty streets that not a few days earlier that she and her crew were scurrying through, trying their best to avoid attention. Streets that were now a little bit safer thanks to them.

Janeway noted that Momo's house looked smaller than when she had last seen it. Perhaps, she pondered, it was a trick of the light that had her thinking it was any more expansive than the other houses along the many streets she had walked. That, and perhaps the looming anxiety of the unknown had caused the logic centres of her brain to be skewed somewhat. Now, out of immediate danger and in full view of the sun, Momo's little home seemed much more... quaint - that was the word she found herself drawn to. It was nothing too impressive, but sweet and resigned. It had a unique attraction, a mystique that only age could lend. Just like Momo, in many respects, the captain concluded.

Janeway approached the door of the old Hollan's domain, and with a renewed energy, gave the barrier a solid thrice of knocks. There was a short shuffling from inside, and the door opened. Janeway found herself looking up into the face of Pedra, rested and clean after their ordeal. Worryingly, his eyes hadn't lost their weariness it seemed, and his face's shallowness had not been a product of the dim lighting she had seen him in during their escape. That same face at present held a familiar smile that suited though.

"Captain," he greeted. "What brings you back? Not that we're not happy to have you, of course."

"Thank you, Pedra," she replied with a curt nod. "I was here to say a final goodbye, to all three of you - and to express our finest gratitudes from Voyager."

Pedra's eyebrows raised slightly, while his smile faltered despite himself.

"Well, best you come in, then," Pedra smiled sadly, nodding quickly to mask the fact. He stepped aside, gesturing her indoors, and close the door behind her gently. "Momo! Lulu! Captain Janeway has returned to say goodbye."

"Has she now?" the old woman called back, appearing around the corner with a smile. The two matriarchs embraced, Emily but warmly expressing their friendship, as women had a habit of doing. A pattering of little footsteps alerted them of Lulu's entrance, as she ran to Janeway's legs and squeezed them tight. Janeway chuckled as the force of the hug almost caused her to topple over. Noticing this, Pedra made his way over, placing a reassuring hand upon the little girl's shoulder.

"Very nice, Lulu, but please be careful with the captain," he scolded lightly and inoffensively. Lulu, thankfully, loosened her grip, allowing Janeway to lean down and reciprocate a warm hug.

"Oh, I know," Janeway cooed, "I'll miss you too, Lulu. Thank you for coming to see me."

Lulu nodded from her snug space in Janeway's shoulder. Soon the hug ended, Janeway stood up slowly, allowing the young girl to find a new place next to Pedra, who held her close to his side. Janeway cleared her throat, readying her address.

"I'm here to say," Janeway began, "From everyone on the crew of the USS-Voyager, we are indelibly gracious to you and your family, for your charitable sheltering and courageous rescue of several high ranking Starfleet officers from the clutches of overwhelming danger. We, therefore, are in debt to all three of you - especially you, Pedra - and if there are any requests that you need of us, we will not hesitate to provide."

There was a moment of stillness, as both Pedra and Momo processed the information.

"Well... that is quite the offer," Momo said. She turned to Pedra and gave him a suggestive look. "I think it's about time you got Lulu ready for nursery."

Taking the hint, Pedra carried Lulu out of the room, speaking encouraging words to her about what awaiting her at school. Once she was sure Pedra was otherwise occupied, Momo turned to Janeway. The captain could tell her stare that she was to take Janeway up on her offer. Whatever she had expected, the four words that tumbled out of Momo's mouth were not it.

"Take him with you."

There was a pause - it was a testing of the waters. No other words came. She was serious.

"On Voyager?" She already knew the answer beyond Momo responded, but she had been sure. Kathryn seemed almost shocked by the bluntness of her statement.

"Yes. Take him with you. To space; back to Earth - wherever you end up going."

"Are... are you sure--"

"Absolutely," Momo stated firmly, showing no room for debate. Somehow, Janeway didn't seem quite as sure.

"Have you spoken to Pedra about this?"

Momo seemed undeterred, but her stern expression softened slightly.

"This has been a long time coming for him - for both of us," she replied cryptically. The line felt strangely rehearsed.

"That didn't answer my question," Janeway said pointedly.

"He knows just as much as I do that he can't stay forever," Momo explained. "He knows that this day is coming."

"But does he know that it's today? Is he ready?" Janeway argued. "This is his whole life, being here with you and Lulu."

Momo scoffed.

"This? This tiny, little building in a dusty corner of an old spaceport? This isn't even close to what his life has entailed. Pedra's not built for this, Janeway. I see in his eyes the desire to leave, every day, tearing at his soul. I feel like I'm trapping an eagle in a cage, Kathryn, and it's not right! I can feel it!"

"This is hardly a cage," Janeway replied. "He has a home here, a family. He loves you - both of you - dearly."

"I know... which is why I cannot let him stay here," Momo stated morosely. She limped over a small wooden chair and rested upon its surface. With a cynical laugh, she raised her shaking digits. "Look at me, Kathryn. I haven't long to go now. If he stays here he will bury me - he'll bury Lulu as well, in the end. After that, he'll have nothing left - here or anywhere else in the universe - and without the drive to go on and find something new... Keeping him here would be killing him... slowly and painfully. I could never do that to him.

"But with you," Momo said with renewed energy, "He can leave here, he can go and discover new places, find new friends, he can move on from us. He can live the life he's always lived, with people he knows and trusts. It's now or never, Janeway. I know it's a lot to ask of you, to take another crew member on the drop of a dime, but it would be the absolute best for him right now. Please, Kathryn..."

Janeway could only stand and stew in contemplative silence. On the one hand, taking on a new member of the crew would boost numbers, it would be a new face to add to the ever-growing family of Voyager, and a man of Pedra's skill wouldn't go amiss on the ship. On the other hand, though, what would he be leaving behind? A small child and an old woman in need of care. The only life he had left.

"And what about you?" Janeway's asked. "How will you cope without him?"

Momo smiled.

"Lulu and I have many friends in this town, especially after getting rid of the Cult. We'll be fine, or at least good enough."

A small, high-pitched laugh echoed from down the hall, followed by the indistinct muttering of an older man.

"Lulu will miss him," Janeway noted.

"Yes, she will," Momo replied. "But she will move on, with my help and many others. I can handle a young child, Kathryn, don't you worry about that."

"I can take both of you with us," Janeway offered. Momo shook her head.

"No," she stated firmly. "What happens now, whatever journey Pedra takes, it must be done on his own. It's for his own good."

Before Janeway could protest, the sounds of Pedra and Lulu returning down the hall began to reach them. Momo quickly turned to Janeway, looking up at her with an imploring gaze.

"Please, Kathryn. Please..."

"Alright," Pedra announced, emerging with little Lulu in tow, "This one's ready to go to school."

Lulu giggled at the attention. Nothing that the mood seemed sombre, Pedra paused, subtly reading the room.

"Are we ready to go?" He asked, more to the room than to any individual.

Janeway forced herself to look at him. He seemed confused, unaware of what they had discussed, but something in his eyes told her he was expecting something big.

She glanced at Momo. The small Hollan gave the most subtle gesture of a nod, her face unchanged. A deep breath. No turning back.

"The question is, Pedra," she began, straightening up, and turning on her heel to fully face the man, "Are you?"

Something in his expression told Janeway he understood precisely what she meant. No panic, no immediate reluctance, he merely looked to Momo and asked a simple question.

"Is it time?" The words fell from his mouth like a surrender.

She nodded.

"I'm afraid so," she replied, a sad smile adorned her face. He sighed, kneeling down to hug the frail woman to him. She reciprocated as much as possible. Janeway had later wondered why their exchange had been so short, so... automatic. It only occurred to her later on that this wasn't a replacement for what could have been said, but the answer to had already been said - everything that could have been said had previously been discussed, all words had spoken, all that was left was the farewell. It had been a long time coming.

"It's been my honour," he whispered shakily. Her grasp tightened around him, her eyes scrunched closed, barely holding in the small tears that were pooling across them.

"Take care of yourself, you silly old man."

Lulu had been a more significant challenge to placate. As soon as the two adults had parted the little girl was a fountain of questions, and by the time the situation had been calmly explained to her by Pedra, she had burst into tears, clinging to the man tightly, crying for him to stay. He hugged gently, whispered something into her ear that seemed to calm her down. They didn't depart for a while, and when they did, she was still more clingy than usual, offering to come with him to retrieve his things for the trip to Voyager.

It was a surprisingly long while after that when Pedra was finally ready to leave, a small duffel bag in one hand, a key in the other - hastily stuffed into his green jacket pocket by Momo. The goodbyes were heartfelt but short and filled with an eagerness that kept the mood from falling into sadness. Momo seemed to keen to indulge in Pedra's farewell, but her desire to set him on the way won out after a while. With one last look at the house that had sheltered him for so many years, Pedra accompanied Janeway along the crowded streets, towards the harbour.

"What did you tell Lulu," Janeway eventually asked, after a long and mostly silent journey to the ship, "To make her calm down?"

Pedra paused on the gangway, looking back at the captain, debating whether to tell her. He seemed to make up his mind and looked up at her to answer.

"I told her I'd be seeing her next week," he said.

Janeway seemed almost taken aback.

"You lied to her?" She asked rhetorically. "To make it easier?"

"Who says I lied?"

Janeway sighed, both in relief and slight admonishment.

"You'll still be here after a week, Pedra. I'm sure you'll fit right in," she reassured him.

Pedra, however, seemed amused. He cocked his head slightly, a small smirk appearing on his lips. He moved to reply, but for some reason decided against it at the last moment, walking up the rest of the platform towards the transporters. Still, as cryptic as ever, it seemed. She hardly expected him to break his habit of keeping secrets now, but this one seemed more suspicious to her than she could reasonably explain. A little something in the back of her brain began to bug her, like a tiny alarm bell.

Janeway wondered - for a fraction of moment - if she had just made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pedra has officially joined the crew. Now the fun begins. 
> 
> Now the story will follow Voyager's fifth season, so next time we'll see Pedra being introduced and settling into life on the ship, and the troubles that his presence soon brings - if you expect it to all go down smoothly, then prepare for a rude awakening. This is all building up to something, and Pedra's introduction to Voyager will have big ramifications for the crew later down the road. 
> 
> For now though, thank you for your lovely comment and your Kudos, it really helps. I took a break for a bit because I'm not a writing machine and certainly don't have all the time for constant updates, but my aim is at least one chapter a month. It seems bad, I know, but it's as fast as I can go without it turning into absolute trollop. I'll always value quality over quantity or timing, that's just how I am. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you're all enjoying the story, have fun guessing, and remember 
> 
> don't trust him


	11. Chapter 11

**Captain's Log  
Stardate 52176.7**

**Ever since our departure from Cotriol, we have encountered few disturbances (sparing a stray asteroid we had to realign to avoid). The supplies we managed to find in Cotriol, despite the Rakweed the infestation, are lasting well, and according to the most recent calculations, they will continue to do so for another few weeks. We have located a nearby planet who are receptive to our requests for food and Dilithium, and the detour from our current route amounts to only three days. Crew morale is surprisingly high. I can guess that this moment of peace is a great boon to those shaken by the recent altercations. The quiet has done little for my nerves, however. While I suspect we have escaped the Daleks' immediate grasp, I am still wary of when we could run into them again. The Doctor's warning still dwells fresh in my mind. He knows them very well, too well for them to be another passing species on his travels. I find myself wondering how many times the Doctor has encountered this staggeringly aggressive species, and how many times he has managed to slip through their fingers.**

**My main concern in the short term is our newest crew member, Pedra Dravik. Logistically he is adjusting to life on the ship well. After showing an affinity for astronomy and advanced quantum calculus, he was assigned to work alongside Seven of Nine in Astrometrics. Already he has proved a valuable addition to the team, helping Seven identify the asteroid that forced us to correct our course. Despite his success in Astrometics, his social life is not taking off as well as I had hoped. I would have suspected that due to our time spent with him in Cotriol, that the crew would have taken to him well. According to my first officer, he eats alone, rarely spends his spare time outside of his quarters and is seldom seen conversing with the rest of the crew. I can only hope that he manages to make a few friends soon, or I might have to intervene, for his own sake.**

**In other such news, a new reconnaissance probe is currently in the final stages of development, and we will begin field tests within the next few weeks. Hopefully, this probe will be able to streamline our methods of finding materials and significantly reduce the risk of exploratory ventures beyond the ship. Tom Paris has noted that, apart from her work on the probe, our Chief Engineer B'Elanna Torres has been slightly distant towards him as of late. I have asked Chakotay and Paris to keep an eye on her for now.**

* * *

Pedra was weird. That was a fact Tom had decided relatively early on into the recruit's time aboard Voyager. Sure he was also smart and a hard worker, and had saved his life not too long ago, but he was also just weird. It wasn't even anything specific about him, either. The man just had something about him that wasn't quite right.

Conversations with him were stiff, he rarely smiled except to himself, he could tolerate Seven of Nine! He had volunteered to work with Seven of Nine! Of course, Tom held no ill will towards Seven, she was a valuable member of the crew, but working with her? Regularly? It made him shudder. Maybe weird attracts weird, maybe they were on the same wavelength, but whatever they had together was working. Apparently, Seven had even complimented his work. If Tom didn't know any better, he'd say that Seven actually likes him. But no, that wasn't how Seven operated, and hell, he didn't even know how Pedra fucntioned. There were rumours going around the ship that he didn't sleep, just kept on working day and night, round the clock. But Tom didn't like to listen to those rumours too often. Many of them were just as outlandish as the image they were projecting about the man himself. Tom knew it was too early to make a definitive opinion on the man, after all, what's weird on a ship full of - admittedly - aliens, huh?

So, it was with an optimistic heart that, when noticing the new recruit wandering into the mess hall one day, that Tom decided to walk up to him and greet him. 

“Hey, Pedra,” Tom called. 

The man paused on his way to a table. “Oh, hey. Tom, isn’t it?” he asked. 

“Uh huh,” Tom nodded. “We met during the whole… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” Pedra shrugged, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Nah, it’s fine. At least we made it out alive right,” Tom said, displaying a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway, I was about to say, we’re having lunch, you wanna join?”

Pedra glanced over Tom’s shoulder. Sitting around a small table were Chakotay and B’Elanna, both engaged in mindless chatter. neither had noticed Pedra’s arrival. 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude,” Pedra began.

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t be,” Tom encouraged. “Come on, you can tell us all about your first days on the ship.”

The pilot gestured towards an empty chair, beside Chakotay, opposite B’Elanna. Hesitantly, Pedra shuffled over and sat down. The eyes of the already seating crewman turned towards him as the talking died. for a few moments, Pedra’s shifting awkwardly, sending them a courteous but quiet greeting. A few seconds later, Tom took the last remaining seat.

“Guys, you know Pedra, right?” Tom addressed the small group. 

“Yes, of course,” Chakotay turned towards the newcomer. “How are you settling into Voyager?”

Pedra paused before answering. 

“Well, it could be worse,” he smiled. “The ship hasn’t crashed yet.” 

This caused an amiable chuckle throughout the table. 

“And if it did, it would definitely be my fault.”

This was met less warmly. Chakotay replied first.

“Well, now we know who to blame if ever the ship comes crashing down,” he offered.

“How’s working with Seven?” Tom asked. 

“Oh, she’s not so bad,” Pedra answered. “She’s a bit cold.”

“Oh, well that’s just Seven for you,” Tom replied, “She’s never been for emotions. She’s all work, all day. I’m not even sure if she has any feelings left. I just stay out of her way.”

He noticed Pedra’s narrowing ever so slightly. 

“Maybe you just haven’t got to know her well enough,” Pedra retorted with a slither of ice. 

“Yeah, maybe I have,” Tom conceded quickly, “Most of my time has been working on the new probe.”

Pedra shoulders relaxed from his neck, falling to his sides again. 

“I guess so,” he sighed, “That probe has been the talk of the ship recently. How far along is it?”   


“We could be done in the few weeks, couldn’t we, B’Elanna?” Tom asked across the table to where B’Elanna was absently sitting.

“Hmm?” she sounded.

“In a few weeks, with a bit of elbow grease, the probe might be ready for deployment,” Tom repeated pointedly. 

“Maybe,” B’Elanna chimed with little enthusiasm. The men glanced at each other, shifting in their seats.

“Well, I think it will be if all goes to plan,” Tom continued. 

“Sure, great,” B’Elanna grumbled. “Can’t wait to see it.”

“I mean, we’ve been working on it for a while. You must be proud of how far we’ve come.”

“Yeah, of course, I am,” she sighed, never taking her eyes off of expanse out of the window.

Tom and Chakotay looked at each other, asking who would go first. Pedra, however, kept his eyes on her, and B’Elanna, feeling his stare, turned and stared straight back. 

“You got something to say are you just going to keep staring at me?” she growled irritably. Pedra didn’t shift. “What do you want?”

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

B’Elanna’s face turned from irritation to disbelief. She sighed and turned back towards the window.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Pedra said. B’Elanna froze. Her eyes widened and suddenly her stare went from a thousand-yard to blank in a moment. 

She said nothing, as did Tom, as did Chakotay. The mood became oppressive. 

“I know that feeling,” he continued. “I know what it’s like to lose someon-”

B’Elanna swivelled violently toward him. 

“Shut up,” she whispered. “You don’t know me! You know nothing about me or what I’ve lost so just shut up! Shut up!”

Like a hurricane she stormed from her seat and left the mess hall, leaving the dust to settle amongst the three men. Tom and Chakotay could only stare at Pedra, who had suddenly become very uncomfortable. He glanced towards the pair and swallowed. 

“I’m sorry, I thought I could…” 

Whatever Pedra was going to say next died in his throat. 

“Well, clearly I couldn't. I’m sorry.”

He stood and retreated from the table. The pair watched him stride from the mess hall as fast as he could, leaving yet another empty space on the table. The two men sat awkwardly, stewing in the aftermath.

“Okay,” Tom remarked, “That didn’t go how I expected.”

His attempt at levity failed, but Chakotay appreciated it. For now, he was more concerned in whatever had B’Elanna so wound up. And what had Pedra seen? What had been there that neither of them had noticed? And why had it set her off so badly?

“I guess my lunch hour is over,” Tom said. When Chakotay didn’t even chuckle, Tom quickly sobered himself. “Should I go after her?”

No,” Chakotay said, “not yet. Let her settle for a bit.”

Tom visibly crumpled. 

“You know, sometimes she can be a bit much, but this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this,” he confessed. “Have you?”

Chakotay’s brow furrowed, his lips tightened.

“Not in a very long time.”

* * *

 

Naomi Wildman had always been a curious kid. Ever since she could crawl, she had been drawn to whatever had interested her, like the tide drawn towards the shore. It was almost an unbeatable impulse; if she found something that intrigued her, she had to learn more about it. Maybe part of that desire for learning was due to her intellect - which was far beyond any child's of a similar age - but her mother, Samantha, knew differently. She knew, underneath that soft, vulnerable exterior, lay a thirst for adventure. How could you not, having been born on a ship stuck in the unknown, where the dangerous and the exciting was a regular occurrence?

It was inevitable, then, that one day, when Naomi was casually sitting in the Mess Hall tucking into a sandwich, and out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a lone man she hadn't met before, solemnly eating in private, that she had to introduce herself. Being around the ship for long enough meant that she could recognise almost every face she saw, even if she couldn't quite put a definitive name on it. The fact that some were human, some were blue and some had eyes that bulged like lamps didn't matter to the little girl who had only ever known a multicultural space. This face was... strange, though.

Whilst differences in species was certainly something she was used to, differences in age was a slightly more foreign concept. There was a simple reason for that. As far as she needed to know, she was a child, and everyone she knew was an adult. Simple as that. Anything else breached grounds that simply didn't need exploring in great detail. However, this person's face seemed off somehow. She studied it, as closely as she could as she made her way over to them, carrying her tray with her food ahead of her. Perhaps it was the eyes. They seemed older than they should be. When she looked into her mother's eyes, she usually could tell they belonged to her. They looked older, but not ancient in any sense. There was still a little bit of mischief that Naomi could find in her own if she looked hard enough. This man's eyes... they just didn't seem to fit. They looked old - old, old. And sad. In need of a friend.

She slid her tray onto the table, catching the man's eye before she jumped up onto the seat in opposite him. She settled in and gave him her friendliest smile.

"Hello," she greeted.

"Hello," he replied, his voice mixed with curiosity and warmth. "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if I could help you," Naomi smiled. "I'm Naomi Wildman. I'm going to be Captain's Assistant one day."

"I see," the man nodded. He sounded very impressed.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"My name?" he asked back. "Oh, well... my name is Pedra. Pedra Horatio Dravik."

"Pedra Horatio Dravik?" she repeated, slowly digesting the words. "That's a strange name."

The man - Pedra, as she now knew him - smiled.

"Well, it's all in the initials," he replied cryptically. "Am I correct in assuming that you're related to Ensign Wildman?"

"She's my mum," she grinned, sitting a little taller. "She's the best mum in the world."

"I'm sure she is," Pedra agreed. "I mean if she raised you, one of the most polite little girls I've met - and the future Captain's Assistant no less - well, how could she not be?"

"Exactly," she chorused.

"So," he continued, taking a bite out of his... yoghurt and cereal? "Since Captain's Assistant may be a while off yet, tell me, what are you doing to pass the time?"

"Well," she began, deciding to ignore the strange breakfast items, "I mostly just help my mum and Neelix with whatever chores they need help with. I clean my room; I study for school, I take walks around the ship. Sometimes I write about the stars we see out the window."

"I see," Pedra murmured. He wipes his mouth with her handkerchief and set the half-finished cereal aside. "Doesn't that ever get boring?"

"Boring?" Naomi asked. "No... not really. I mean, it's always busy around the ship. I often have Neelix to tell me what happens, and some of the stuff he tells me is amazing. But, I mean, between you and me..."

She glanced around, scanning the room for Neelix, before leaning in across the table. Pedra instinctively mirrored her, being his ear closer to her mouth as she whispered.

"I think some of the stuff he tells me isn't true," she confided.

"No!" Pedra whispered in theatrical indignation. "Like what?"

"Well," she continued, "He once told me that the reason that the Captain and her away-team were gone for so long was that they had been captured by a cult!"

A twinkle of something appeared in Pedra's eyes, and the corners of his mouth twisted upward into a small grin.

"Well, that's not true," he chuckled mysteriously. "Where on earth does he get those stories from?"

"I know!" Naomi quietly exclaimed. "I mean, I get that I'm a kid, and that means I'm meant to have a short attention-span, but a cult? A chase through the catacombs? A masterminded trap? Just seems a bit contrived to me."

"Oh, good vocabulary," Pedra applauded. Naomi smiled bashfully.

"Well, you learn a lot from reading."

"It's a good hobby, reading," Pedra agreed. "Never give up reading, Naomi Wildman, because it will serve you well."

"That's what my mum tells me," Naomi noted. A sudden curious thought popped into her brain that she had to share. "You sound a lot like her when she speaks to me. Do you have kids?"

Pedra paused. His eyes looked downcast. His brow furrowed.

"Well... no. Yes and no," he replied. Naomi looked puzzled. He continued. "I used to have kids. A long time ago. But they're gone now."

"Gone?" Naomi asked. "Where have they gone?"

Pedra gave her a once-over, a soft, fragile smile replacing his frown. His eyes glanced nowhere, reminiscing or imagining, she couldn't tell.

"Someplace better, I hope," Pedra replied. "That's what every parent hopes for their child. For them to go somewhere better."

"Oh," Naomi said. "Does mum want that for me?"

His eyes shifted back to her, and the warmth that had disappeared earlier returned in earnest.

"Oh, absolutely," Pedra said with as much sincerity as she had heard from the man. "I think she has very high hopes for you, Naomi, and who wouldn't? But most of all I know she wants you to be happy and safe."

"Well I am happy," Naomi responded, "And I'm as safe as anyone else."

"Then what more could she ask for?" he grinned. Naomi grinned back. The pair lifted their cups and knocked them together with a 'cheers', throwing them back in celebration.

"So what do you do, Pedra?" she asked. "What's your job?"

"Oh, it's nowhere as important as your's," he clarified, earning a giggle from the young the girl, "But I work in Astrometrics. We chart out spacial anomalies, planets, wormholes - basically, we make sure we don't run into anything or anyone. I work with Seven of Nine most of the time."

"The Borg lady?" Naomi said with a shiver of dread. Pedra paused, noting her reaction.

"You know, she's quite nice in person," Pedra told her. "You never know. If I introduce you two, you might get along well."

"No thanks," she hastily replied. Pedra frowned.

"Why not?"

"Well... I don't want to be... you, know," she whispered, glancing towards others in the room, "assimilated."

"Now, Naomi," Pedra sighed, "she won't be assimilating you any time soon."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yep," he grinned. "There's not enough there to assimilate. Nah, you'd be much more useful as lunch!"

Naomi paled, and her hands flew to her mouth. Pedra stifled a laugh. The young girl soon caught on and scowled at him.

"That wasn't funny," she protested. Pedra raised an eyebrow.

"It was to me," he shrugged. He quickly turned sincere. "Besides, she couldn't assimilate you if she wanted to. The parts that she'd need to do that have long been removed. Plus, she's disconnected from the Collective, now. She's free."

"I know, but..." Naomi seemed to shrink into herself at the thought of the Borg lady. She creeped her out. The blank face. The height. The cold demeanour. The monotone voice. It sent shivers down her spine just thinking about it.

Pedra simply shook his head. Children were always tricky when it came to people they didn't like. He could admire their brutal honesty, but it didn't mean that it wasn't often troublesome.

"I'm just saying, don't be afraid to say hello to her at some point. I promise you she won't hurt you," Pedra explained. He slipped his breakfast intensely under the table as a sly thought occurred to him. "Look, I've worked with her for two weeks now, and I'm still Borg-free. See?"

He lifted his hand to wave at her, only to find that it was gone! Replaced with... a spoon! He gasped dramatically. Naomi descended into giggles, which Pedra joined her in, as he removed the spoon from his sleeve.

Their giggles were so loud that even from across the Mess Hall they were heard by an Ensign Samantha Wildman as she entered through the sliding doors. She immediately locked onto Naomi, with some concern about how she was sitting with a new face. But that concern was lifted slightly as she saw how the two were getting along. She had rarely seen the composed and orderly little Naomi in hysterics, but it appeared that this man had achieved it with great success. Her motherly paranoia was replaced with curiosity, as she made her way towards the two. She noted his unfamiliarity - he was a new recruit. Or at least new-ish. She also noted the fact that he had been allowed to keep his beard, so clearly, he was some special case.

"Enjoying your lunch, Naomi?" Sam asked, interrupting their laughing session. The young girl swivelled on her chair to face her, giving her mother a pleasant smile.

"Very much, mom," she replied. Sam nodded. Her gaze then fell to the man across from her daughter, who was also smiling politely.

"And who's your new friend?" Sam asked. Naomi turned towards the man and introduced him.

"His name is Pedra," she explained. "He works in Astrometrics. I told him about how I wanted to become Captain's Assistant and he was very impressed."

"Was he now?" Sam pondered, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"She came and introduced herself to me a few minutes ago," he said. "We struck a conversation. You have a very polite daughter. You should be proud." He said it as if he knew exactly how much work it took to raise a polite child.

"Oh, thank you, I am," Sam replied. "Do you have kids or family?"

Naomi took the chance answer before the man could even open his mouth.

"He used to," Naomi stated matter-of-factly, "be he says that they've gone somewhere better."

Sam felt her heart break. She glanced back at the man. He merely shrugged solemnly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. Naomi look profoundly confused. Sam had absolutely no intention of enlightening her to what they actually meant. "Oh, I can hardly imagine... So, uh, Naomi said you work in Astrometrics."

"Yes, I do," Pedra replied with renewed vigour. It was clear that he wanted to move on as much as she did. "I work with Seven of Nine."

"The Borg lady, mom," Naomi cringed. Sam sighed.

"Don't bother," Pedra grinned. "I tried to explain it to her as well. But kids will be kids."

"Exactly," Sam chorused, "stubborn to the last about the monsters in their closets."

"She's not in my closet!" Naomi argued. "She walks around the ship!"

"If it weren't for her, we wouldn't have a ship," Sam admonished her daughter. "She's done more for this crew than you realise, young lady. Remember that asteroid the other week?"

"Oh, actually, that was me," Pedra clarified.

"Oh, really," Sam replied. "I'm impressed. How long have you been on the job?"

"About a fortnight, I'd say."

"And already right in the middle of the action."

"Oh, you have no idea," Pedra chuckled, taking a swig of his tea. As he lowered his arm, he noted the time on his wrist watch. He almost spluttered his drink in alarm. "Oh, my giddy aunt, is that the time? I'm sorry, you two, but if I don't skedaddle back to my station in five minutes a Borg will have my head."

"See!" Naomi cried. "I told you!"

Pedra rolled his eyes.

"No, not literally," he clarified, "but she will be furious. Or disappointed. I can't tell the difference. But, yes, I'm afraid I must dash."

"Thank you for taking care of Naomi," Sam said, as Pedra packed away his mug and bowl. Pedra gave her a pointed look.

"If anything, Naomi took care of me," he murmured. And with that, he took off from the Mess Hall.

"I hope the Borg lady doesn't kill him," Naomi confided. Sam merely shook her head and patted the young girl on the back.

"That was a very nice thing you did for that man, Naomi," Sam praised. "I'm very proud of you."

"Well," Naomi explained, "he just looked so sad and lonely. How could I not?"

It was as Sam and Naomi were strolling back to their quarters after lunch when the older woman thought back to what he said about his own children. About how they were gone. She felt herself tighten her grasp on her daughter unconsciously, hoping that day wouldn't come for her or her little girl, and refusing to imagine how it could possibly feel to lose something so precious. Naomi had that she found him looking lonely and sad. Sam could lament how, honestly, she wasn't surprised.

* * *

 Sam wasn't the only one to notice Pedra's newfound friendship with the young Naomi Wildman. Their banter had also caught the attention of Chakotay, who happened to be eating at the same time. Their laughter had just managed to hook his ear over the white noise of eating, drinking and general chatter. His eye was drawn upwards, scanning the hall, and eventually landed upon the two. It was perhaps the first time he had seen a genuine smile on Pedra's face since they had left Cotriol. That alone seemed to bring a hot round of shame for the first officer, Janeway had tasked him with a side mission of getting the man acquainted with the crew and the ship. Suffice to say Pedra now knew his way around Voyager, he the social dynamics of the crew had proved a hurdle to high to climb. Or perhaps, he pondered, they had set the bar too high.

The crew still remembered their time in the catacombs well. They remembered the feeling of betrayal that had overwhelmed them when Pedra's plan was unveiled. Trust was a hard thing to earn, especially once broken, and certainly after trauma. But that didn't mean that Pedra hadn't seen trauma as well. The first officer could see it within the man as clear as the tattoos on his skin. Then again, Chakotay knew what to look for. The others seemed almost oblivious to it. Tom... well Tom never really was one for emotion. B'Elanna still hadn't deemed Pedra trustworthy in her eyes, and she made it abundantly clear in their interactions. At every chance, she got she had sent him passive aggressive statements, harsh enough to leave a mark but not enough to earn her a direct reprimand. Then again, that seemed to be B'Elanna's tactic with everyone nowadays, not even Tom, her boyfriend. Neelix had been as civil, as always, but never had time to talk to the new recruit.

Tuvok -ah, never mind. Trying to draw emotions from Tuvok was like trying to draw milk from a rock. Not that Chakotay minded. He often found Tuvok's straightforward demeanour refreshing. It was Janeway who had currently had the most interaction with Pedra so far, and clearly, she had a soft spot for the man. She constantly asked about his well being, about how he was fitting into the crew. And every time, Chakotay had to tell her he was excelling at his duties, and floundering socially. And every time he had to watch Janeway's face slowly turn to disappointment and a hint of regret.

Seven was the only who regularly spoke to him, albeit mostly in scientific jargon that even he often failed to understand. Pedra appeared to be right at home though. It was truly remarkable how quickly he had taken to the equipment and the advanced theory, ike a fish to water - or a Vulcan to celibacy. Chakotay mentally reprimanded himself for that joke, but allowed himself a chuckle anyway. Beyond his technical proficiency, it was clear Seven seemed to enjoy his company, if only evident by how he had received not one complaint about his conduct or any instances of incompetent practise - a rarity for Seven, indeed. It certainly helped that Pedra was one of the few male crew that could hold eye contact with Seven indefinitely. Tom had marvelled underhandedly at the man's discipline. Chakotay had merely rolled his eyes at the pilot, refusing to let his though sink that far I to the gutter. He had to maintain some professionalism around here.

Well, it was clear now that Pedra had the roots of social circle coming into blossom now that Naomi had engaged with him. And with the girl's mother - Ensign Samantha Wildman - following with similar success, it looked like Chakotay was finally able to bring some good news to the captain. She would be pleased. With the long-range probe nearly completed and her pet-project finally finding a social footing, it seemed that things were really looking up.

Chakotay sighed and wondered how long that would last.

* * *

 

 It was later that evening - tucked away in a secret corner of the ship, away from the prying eyes - when the two of them finally met. The weary travellers from a long-lost world took a moment to adjust to each other again. How to continue? How do we speak? Reality suddenly felt fluid, and words appeared in spaces unfelt for so long.

_New friends?_

"... Yes."

_Good. You've been alone for too long. And I was becoming impatient._

"You never seemed to mind before."

_I did. I always have. You just refused to listen to me. You buried me in the back of your mind when you were born and refused to let me out. Until now. Until you opened the door and freed me once again. You were out of practise. It was amusing._

“Were we noticed?”

_We are never noticed, that seems to be to your detriment at the moment._

A laugh? A sigh?

"Are you here to console me or mock me?"

_I am here to offer you the words you need to hear, just as I offer the sights you need to see and the people you need to meet. I am more aware than you realise._

"You're smarter than I know. That is all I know. This is nice. We don't talk often enough. "

_You talk all the time, you just do not say anything._

“So, you hear me?”

_I always hear you._

“You don't talk back. Why?”

_I save my voice for when it is needed the most._

"... So why talk now?"

_I am here to tell you to follow them._

"Who?"

_You know who. Do not feign ignorance, it does not suit you, and it insults me._

“I beg you pardon.”

_I beg your cooperation. Go to them. Do not hide from their companionship._

"... I'll fail them."

_You cannot know that. It is foolish to presume._

"I can make an educated guess. It happens every time. You've seen it happen. "

_You change them. Often for the better._

"I dress them up, all ready for their graves."

_You seem to think that the quality of a life is subject to one’s age. You of all people should know better than that._

"But I want them to have some life beyond me. Why I am the one to end it?"

_I feel their lives only truly begin once they have met you._

"And what of the lives that they-- that I leave behind? I had to care for two of them recently. They were alone. Their lives were fractured because of me."

_And now they are safe, because of you._

"Some consolation."

_But consolation nonetheless. If you are aiming for a perfect universe, then you are striving for the impossible._

"I perform the impossible all the time."

_No. You perform the highly improbable._

"What's the difference?"

_Almost infinite._

"It's semantics."

_It always is in a dialogue._

"And now I'm just confused."

_Don't be. It's simple. Let them lead you. Lean on them. They will show you the way._

"And what of you?"

_I will be here when you die. At the moment, however, I am waiting for you to live. Now, go. Let them mark you before they disappear forever. Come back when you are ready. I am not going anywhere._

"... You are... too good for me... I don't deserve you."

_This is not something merely deserved. It has no price. It can only be given. That is what makes it valuable. Give it to someone. Let them give it to you. Remember why you fight for it._

"I will try."

_You will do. And if you try hard enough, you will succeed. It is time to halt your running, my partner. Now is a time for rejuvenation. Now is a time for repair._


End file.
